


Unclaimed Darkness

by ElnaK



Series: Alternatives [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Dark Arts, Dark is not Evil, Everybody Lives, F/M, Gen, I'm so not in the mood to kill anyone, Sirius can't be dead, as long as you don't use it on purpose, author in denial, except those who die, oh well, siriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:33:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 214,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4092490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElnaK/pseuds/ElnaK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not to be willing to use it does not mean one is not able to use it. As a matter of fact, Sirius knew he was gifted concerning it. It wasn't by chance that his family was called Black. But he had long decided he would never use it again.<br/>That time was supposed to be the only exception.</p><p>Sirius hadn't survived Bella killing him to kneel before the Dark Bastard. No, Sirius Black was alive and dangerous, clever and ireful, and slightly insane, of course. He was Lord Black, and he would stand in the way of Voldemort as long as someone would need him to.</p><p>Or, the story in which Sirius survives the Department of Mysteries Battle, is freaking awesome and get a new chance at life. The one in which a sane Bellaterix is actually a kind of nice Bellatrix. The one in which a lot of people manage to stay alive, and some even weren't dead to begin with. The one in which some muggles are important too, and not complete assholes. The one in which Sirius falls in love with a woman who would almost make his mother happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reciprocation curse

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, new fandom, new warning: english is certainly not my mother tongue, so I make mistakes. No one does beta my works. I'm not immune to typing errors. I try to avoid doing grammar atrocities. But I'm french. Not english or anything else. I do what I can. I hope it's not too bad.  
> That being said, I hope you can still enjoy this story.
> 
> Oh, and I'm all for happy endings. But before the end, there might be suffering.

 

He knew he had no time for that. Harry was out there, somewhere in the Department of Mysteries, with Death Eaters running around and trying to kill the kids, but well. He couldn't help it.

After all, it was his wand, just here, behind the glass, waiting for him.

His wand.

The one he had purchased at Ollivanders the year he had gone to Hogwarts for the first time. The one that had been taken away from him after the Wormtail fiasco. The one that, curiously, the Ministry hadn't destroyed after his being thrown in Azkaban.

It was there, waiting for him.

Sirius took a deep breath.

He really had no time for this, but he also felt that he couldn't, wouldn't be able to ignore the urge to take back what was his. Actually, dealing with it right now, instead of postponing and feeling guilty over the need he had to waste time with this when everyone else was fighting in the other rooms, might be a faster way to go back to business.

After all, hexing and jinxing and occasionally cursing their ennemies would be easier with his own wand. Hell, he yearned for a Furnunculus curse on Bella. That would have been splendid.

The wand he was using since his return to the Order wasn't exactly bad, but it wasn't his. It had never accepted him, because it was a discarded wand that Kingsley had found in some dubious place Sirius didn't want to know about. It was useful enough, considering that at least, this way, he had a wand, but it wasn't his in any way.

Staying still, thinking he had no time for that, was another way to waste time, so he might as well waste it usefully.

Sirius Black quickly looked at the room he had ended up in while fighting a now unconscious and tied up Death Eater. It was dark, as every place in the Department of Mysteries, it was small, also, and crowded with furniture of all sorts. Shelves, cupboards, closets, but also many other things such as a displayed skeleton. Who the hell had thought it was a good idea to put a skeleton on display?

Surely someone from his family. That was so like them.

Whatever. The only interesting thing for Sirius in this room, besides himself, of course, was the storage cabinet with the glass doors in front of him.

There might have been wards preventing people from taking the wands that were kept in it, but he doubted it. It was, after all, in the middle of the Department of Mysteries. People weren't supposed to come in and wander around and finally take what they liked before leaving.

So Sirius opened the cupboard.

Nothing happened, which was a relief.

His fingers brushed past the wands. Why they had been kept here, he didn't know. But the names on the plates next to each of the wands made it clear: the interest the Ministry had in these wands wasn't random.

How his own wand had ended up here too was a mystery. Why, after all, would anyone think it deserved to be put away with dark mages' and some of the most unfamous wizards' wands? Even if they had believed him to be a mass murderer working for Voldepants, Sirius Black surely wasn't enough for the brains of the Department to wonder about him. He wasn't powerful enough, not dark enough, not...

But they had believed he had murdered thirteen persons with one spell, so the evil criterion was checked. And he was powerful, if not outrageously strong as Dumbledore or Voldemort were. And he was a Black.

So he totally could apply, with what they believed about his part in the last war, for the same consideration the wizards whose wands were put away in this room had.

Powerful. Evil. Dangerous.

Even while locked up in Azkaban.

The plate “Sirius Black” was right next to the “Vitellius Travers” one, a dark wizard from two centuries prior, because wizards had this curious way of arranging things, but that wasn't the most ashaming part. Sirius winced when he saw the six other Black names that had deserved to be brought in here. Bellatrix, of course, and five of their ancestors.

The Blacks were the only family name that came up more than thrice amongst the plates.

Sirius seized his wand and left the room in haste, willing to forget that his family was definitely the most evil one of Great Britain, but not without hexing the unconscious Death Eater purple and yellow. He had thought that red and gold was a good idea too, since the man was most likely a Slytherin, but he wasn't going to sully Gryffindor with a filthy Death Eater wearing, even unwillingly, its colors.

He opened a door and came back in the Death Chamber.

Apparently, he hadn't wasted as much time thinking about whether or not he should take his wand back as he had believed, and things hadn't changed much. Moody, Bella, Remus, Malfoy, Kingsley, and the other Death Eaters or members of the Order of the Phoenix were still battling each other, the children had more or less succeeded in escaping the ones who were trying to take them hostages, and Harry was being reckless as always, cursing and fighting random Death Eaters to protect Hermione Granger who was uncouscious.

Sirius took a deep breath, and turned around to stupefy an idiot who thought he could surprise him defenseless.

Strangely, the Death Eater was sent flying across the room and crashed against a wall.

That was a bit more than a simple stunning.

Two Death Eaters, as well as Tonks, stopped fighting for a short while after seeing this, but their opponents quickly reminded them of the current battles. Remus, while knocking out his enemy, gave him a quick glance and recognized the wand. Contentment and resentment fought on his face, but he still had some masked bastards to incapacitate, so he decided to leave the scolding for later.

Everything after that was fast.

Sirius remembered fighting with Lucius Malfoy at some point, getting closer to Harry before being drawn into another fight, and then...

He avoided a cruciatus curse and came face to face with a feminin lookalike.

“Bella.”

“Sirius.”

It was uncomfortable how they looked like each other. He was a man, she was a woman, he had straight hair, she had curly hair, he was angry, she was mad. But they were too similar, with their slightly drooping grey eyes, their mass of ink black hair, their aristocratic elegance despite their poor post-Azkaban condition, their good looks. They were Blacks.

“I see you got your wand back.”

Sirius cast a Knockback jinx powerful enough to blow off the stairs right behind his cousin. He frowned. His magic was behaving strangely since he had gotten his wand back.

“I saw yours too, cousin dearest. But I won't tell you where.”

Bellatrix grunted and cast a blue spell that he shielded.

“It's such a shame you're so adamant about siding with the Dark Lord. I know you, Sirius. Deep down, you're a Black. The Dark Arts are calling for you, as they are calling for me. Lucius told me you're still on the Wall of the Lords and your name wouldn't go off, even though the Ministry tried to have Narcissa take the Ladyship.”

This time it was Sirius who rumbled, clearly annoyed that magic considered him to be the one and only Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He had no desire to be the head of such a rotten family.

“Remember how you used dark magic when you were only seve...”

The wizard wouldn't bear it anymore. He didn't let her finish her sentence and went for a Reductor Curse that he half-hoped would blast his cousin into pieces.

Then he heard shouting from where Harry was the last time he had checked, and his eyes searched for his godson.

Unfortunately, Bellatrix had shielded his curse just in time, and, altough she seemed to have difficulties standing, she was still in one piece.

“Time to go, cousin.”

Sirius turned around only to see a spell going for his chest. He let go of his wand.

It wasn't the killing curse, obviously, or he'd have been dead. But his whole body was sent flying, and his destination was ominous enough for him to be sure he wouldn't survive it.

The wizard deliberated faster than he had ever deliberated. The Veil was only inches behind him, he would soon pass the archway. He had no time. He had to make a choice.

Sirius saw Harry being threatened by some unknown Death Eater, the kids struggling against some psychos, Tonks, Kinsgley, Moody battling fiercely, Remus running to Harry's location and glancing at him with horror, and Bella's maddening smile.

Anger rose in his heart.

He silenced it.

She had it coming, didn't she?

Quiet words went through his lips, and he fell behind the Veil.

His shadow had left his body, and crawled to his cousin's, but no one saw it. No one noticed him casting a last spell before dying. It was for the best. Of course, all hell broke loose, and no one had time to notice.

Bellatrix ran away singing about how she had killed her cousin. Harry went after her, tried a Cruciatus curse on her, and hell, Sirius could feel it, it wasn't nearly strong enough to even startle her. Then he saw, though he wasn't certain how he could see, but he saw nonetheless, Voldemort coming, and Dumbledore saving Harry. Everything was a bit blurry, so only anxiety and fear reached his mind, and then he saw Voldepants coming nearer, and grabbing him... well, Bella, before apparating away. Interesting how the Dark Bastard seemed to care for his cousin, even if he was clearly able to torture her on a whim.

What was sure, Sirius thought, was that no one had understood he was still there, linked to Bellatrix's life, and more or less able to sense what she sensed. Soon enough, he'd have a body of his own too, or at least he hoped, since the Reciprocation curse wasn't usually used by people whose body had disappeared.

When that time would come, it'd be better if he knew at least where he was, and with who. He would most likely come back to life with a bunch of Death Eaters around, so it was a good thing, really, that he knew beforehand.

The Reciprocation curse was a Black family's secret. Even the family members usually didn't know much about it. They knew it existed, but they didn't knew the incantation.

Sirius would have snorted, if only he had a body, because only the Lord of the House of Black knew the incantation. Only him knew how risky the curse was, how many of them had failed the spell and died. After all, the one who used the curse was always one doomed to die, to be murdered to be accurate, so usually people couldn't tell the difference.

Bella glanced at her dearest Dark Lord, and so Sirius was forced to look at him too.

Voldepants was simply this rotten that he didn't look much like a human being anymore.

Sirius shrugged internally.

The Reciprocation curse was definitely dark magic. Knowing how Tom Riddle looked like before becoming... this, was enough of a giveaway of what the overuse of dark magic could do to someone. Sirius wasn't particularly keen on the use of the Dark Arts, he basically loathed it, but...

Bella was right.

He was a Black.

And a gifted one at that.

Losing his own good looks wasn't exactly the worst thing that could happen to him.

Paying a little more attention to their surroundings, Sirius noticed they were in a richly decorated building, with pretentiously high windows and walls half-hidden with magic paintings of wizards and witches glaring at the intruders. The most recent ones, when they recognized Voldemort, looked away. Not far away from Bellatrix was a fireplace with a jar containing a green powder. Sirius knew he'd have to escape quickly when he'd actually come back to life, and guessed he would not be able to apparate. If it happened here, he knew how to.

Now, the thing was that he had no idea how much time was needed for the curse to finish its work.

From what he had learned when the title of Lord Black had been passed onto him, at his grand-father's death, only three of the Blacks who had tried to use the Reciprocation curse had succeeded in their attempt, while the eight others had simply died at the hands of their murderers. The process to come back to life took usually less than an hour, but he had no idea if it would be ten minutes or fifty-nine. And, well, he still wasn't sure that he had succeeded.

So he could only wait, hoping that no one would have the bright idea to kill Bellatrix before he did, “no one” being a snake-faced-nearly-not-human-anymore scum. If Voldemort killed, for whatever reason he may have, you never knew with Voldepants, his cousin, Sirius could forget all his hopes to come back to life.

Well, not that he was really eager to.

Sirius Black wasn't known to fear death, quite the contrary, actually.

But he also knew that the war against Voldemort had just begun. He wanted to protect Harry, and everyone else if he could, and for that, he needed to be alive.

Even if that meant he had to give in to the Dark Arts for once.

He only hoped he wouldn't be drawn to it again and again afterwards. He also knew it was a vain wish. Still, somehow, he'd have to control it, and not to become as wicked as Bella was by the same token. Not that he feared to be controlled by the dark magic... He was a Black, after all.

Whatever, he had made a choice, now, and he'd have to live with it.

If he got to live, of course.

By the way, Voldemort wasn't pleased.

The prophecy had been broken into pieces, Harry Potter was still alive, the Ministry knew he was back, and he had lost some of his followers, and all that at the same time. Three of these failures were to be blamed onto Dumbledore, but the first one... Yes, for the first one, he could punish someone, he only had to find a Death Eater who he could vent his anger on.

A grumpy Voldepants was not good to have around.

Voldemort grabbed Bellatrix's arm without delicacy, and used her Dark Mark to call his remaining followers.

Figures appeared in Sirius' line of sight, well, Bella's, figures cloaked in black and wearing wary expressions. Why the hell they had chosen to follow a man who had the disturbing habit of torturing and killing his followers as well as his enemies was beyond Sirius, but well, they were there.

The Death Eater that had him concerned the most apparated second to last.

Severus Snape, with his greasy hair and hooked nose, stood silently on the other side of the room with some other Death Eaters. Sirius's vision was too blurry to count how many of them were there, but he was certain he couldn't see the blond hair of Malfoy, surely tied up and nearly on his way to Azkaban back at the Ministry.

“Your fellow Death Eaters utterly failed their mission, and by doing so, failed me. I hope none of you will disappoint me as much in the future.”

Many wizards shivered at the statement, not deaf to the rising displeasure in the Dark Bastard's voice. Sirius mentally snorted. The guy definitely had mental and control issues.

And if he could let go of his arm, too, wait, Bella's arm, but still, his arm, that'd be great.

Voldepants rambled about how they were all fools and literally useless, a random Death Eater said something and was hexed in warning, and Sirius finally noticed that he himself was getting angry as well. Not slightly angry, as he was supposed to be after being murdered by his own cousin, but so angry he could have used some Unforgivables Curses to feel better if he had a body.

As sick as it sounded, it was a good sign, and meant the Reciprocation curse was working just fine.

Voldemort sat on a chair that looked a lot like a throne and looked over his followers with disdain. Bellatrix, not daring to look at him directly as she always did with infinite adoration, had joined the other Death Eaters, Rowle, one of the Travers, and others he didn't really care about enough to remember their names right now. Severus was looking grumpy, but he always looked angry, so that was usual, and in the end, he was right to be, with the current state of their crusade.

“The results of this mission are desastrous. The only good point, and when I say good point, it's out of humor, of course, when we lost more than half of our men, is this one: Severus' Hogwarts nemesis died at Bellatrix's hands. Which means we lost a dozen of Death Eaters, and only inflicted a small wound at the Order's side, while the Ministry can't ignore us anymore. Now, will one of you tell me who is to blame?”

Snape looked more shocked than happy with the piece of news, and he surely wasn't even thinking about Voldemort's question. The man frowned, unsure of what to do. He definitely couldn't express his joy with the current situation and the Dark Lord's anger, and besides that, he wasn't exactly happy that Sirius Black had died. Many assumed it was because he had wanted to kill him himself.

Sirius almost felt bad for hating the man so much. Almost.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Bellatrix felt something strange.

As if someone was here, spying on her.

The witch looked around, searching for someone who shouldn't be here, and saw no one. It wasn't exactly surprising, after all. She had this feeling the spy was in her head, one way or another, so he wasn't likely to be around.

Two answers: either she was growing mad, or there really was someone with access to her mind.

The why and how, she didn't know. But if someone could see what was happening, she had to stop them before they could gather enough information or anything they were looking for.

Her eyes set on Severus, and she grinned.

Whoever the spy was, he wouldn't be able to withstand legilimency. And the two wizards able to do that perfectly in the room were the Dark Lord and Severus. Bellatrix wasn't going to ask the Dark Lord, of course. But she could still ask the potion master.

Something, well, maybe someone, shivered in the back of her mind.

Snape was considering the fact that Sirius Black was dead when he saw Bellatrix coming closer. It was suspicious, and seeing the grin on her face, definitely not to talk about the weather.

“Bellatrix, may I do something for you?”

Knowing her, he feared she'd ask him to torture some muggle or muggle-born to prove his loyalty and his beliefs. And Severus wouldn't be able to refuse, even though he couldn't bear the madness of the Dark Lord and his certitudes anymore. How had he even thought all this was right, when he had been in love with Lily Evans, a muggle-born?

He inwardly winced remembering how much of a fool he had been back then.

The witch was looking at him with satisfaction.

“I want you to take a look in my head.”

Severus was dumbfounded, and he wasn't the only one. The two nearest Death Eaters were staring in their direction, trying to make sense of the situation, and stopped paying any attention to what their Dark Lord was saying to Travers Junior, or whatever was his name.

“You want who to do what?”

Bellatrix's grin grew wider as she answered.

“You. Take a look in my head.”

“And why would I want to do that? Your mind is surely filled with dementors and torture scenes, so you'll excuse me if I'm reluctant to take a look.”

He shuddered when she almost leaned on him and whispered in his ear.

“I think someone is sneaking in my head, though I have no idea how.”

Snape squinted his eyes, uncertain of what to do.

Well, if someone was spying on them in some way, they had shamefully failed when Bellatrix had caught on their spying, and as a Death Eater, it would be better for him to comply. What excuse could he give not to do it, after all?

“Fine, I'll do it. But don't you dare to trick me or you'll pay for it.”

Bellatrix looked at him with the eyes of the innocent, and Severus found himself uncomfortably trying to ignore her resemblance with her cousin. Why were the Blacks so terribly beautiful and unnerving, in the name of Merlin? Now he wanted to punch her for using this trick on him and for looking like the deceased Sirius Black when she was the one who had killed him.

And, well, he was a bit angry that he actually wasn't happy about Sirius' death, and that he had flinched at her beauty while she looked so much like him. Maybe he was searching for comparisons where there weren't any, but still. He was sure Sirius Black would be laughing out loud if he knew his thoughts about how he was angry with such stupid things.

And indeed, Sirius Black was roaring with laughter in the back of Bella's mind.

He knew it wasn't a good thing that she had asked Snape to read her mind, oh yes, he knew it, but still, this was too good to be overlooked.

Bella was basically flirting with Snivellus. Even if it wasn't to seduce him, only to get what she wanted, that is, to unnerve the wizard, it was too damn funny.

Well, still, this was going to get ugly if the curse didn't finish its work pretty soon.

Bellatrix and Severus walked out of the room, under the surprised eyes of most of the Death Eaters present. They entered a small room and Snape took out his wand.

Damn, Sirius swore mentally, no fireplace in here.

Bella shivered. The presence in her head was getting stronger.

“ _Legilimens_!”

Bellatrix forced herself to open her mind and not to resist the invasion, and she clearly felt that someone else was trying to resist alongside her subconscious.

Snape frowned as he overlooked thoughts and memories. Some of it might have been useful to the Order, but she would notice if he lingered around. He was looking for something peculiar, not for some of the sickening moments in Bellatrix Lestrange's life. He was looking for something, someone, that shouldn't be here, and...

Severus' eyes widened.

That wasn't possible. It couldn't, shouldn't be, it...

That's when he felt the wave of darkness.

“What is it, Severus?”

The wizard took a step back, breaking the mental link to protect himself. His wand pointed towards Bellatrix, well, what he had assumed to be Bellatrix, he squinted his eyes.

The witch suddenly seemed lost.

She collapsed at his feet, and the dull sound of her body crashing against the floor resonated in the room. Hurried footsteps were heard, and the door soon opened violently, letting three Death Eaters in who looked at Severus and Bellatrix warily.

“What the hell are you two doi... Wait, Severus, what did you do to her?”

The potion master winced at the accusation.

“Nothing. But I believe you should take a hold of your wand. I'm not certain of what this all mean, but I can tell you for sure that there is something wrong with her. I can't promise she won't try anything.”

Everyone looked at him bewildered. Snape really looked serious about that, afraid, even, and that wasn't, couldn't be a good thing. Severus Snape wasn't a man to be easily afraid.

Bella was writhing in pain. This was definitely dark magic's effects, but how could she... Never mind, she wasn't exactly in the right state to wonder about this kind of things.

Something switched, and she couldn't breathe anymore.

Then she could again.

But she wasn't the one breathing. Her body was breathing. Her body was moving, standing up again. But not her mind. Her mind wasn't able to do anything anymore, though it still received sensory signals. She wasn't the one moving, although her body was moving.

A shift in balance, exactly.

Before, she had had more power than the one lurking in the back of her mind.

When she had asked Snape to check who was spying on them, they had allowed the spy to take control. It would have surely been a matter of time, and in the end, the wizard who had taken away her will would have done the exact same thing anyway.

Her mouth whispered words she was the only one to hear. Realization struck her like lightning.

“Tss, 'can't believe it went down to that. I really, really do hope I won't stay stuck in Bella's body, because that would be hell in all respects.”

Obviously. Sirius wasn't eager to live the rest of his life, yes, yes, more accurately, Bellatrix' life, in the body of a woman who had so many issues. First of all, being a woman when he was a man. Not her fault, really, but that would be freaking terrifying. And people would surely try to hook him up with Remus if he ended up a woman, if only for the fun of the awkwardness of the proposition. Second thing, Bellatrix had, same as him actually, spent years in Azkaban, and wasn't exactly in good health. Third point, she had a bloody Dark Mark on her forearm and there was no way he'd put up with this. Fourth and not last problem, she was wanted and a murderer. Even if he managed to make people understand he wasn't actually her, he'd still have to deal with what she had done. Fifth headache, she was his cousin, goddamnit!

And let's not talk about the fact that he was in her body because he had killed her after she had killed him, or that the Reciprocation curse was definitely dark magic.

“Bellatrix...?”

Right. Death Eaters everywhere. And a Dark Bastard on the loose in the dining room.

Sirius got on his feet and glanced over the dark wizards in the room. All of them were wary of him. Quite justified, after all. Snivellus, particularly, was looking at him with awe. Sirius wondered what he had seen exactly when their minds had collided.

Was he aware of who he was?

Or had he only stumbled upon the swirl of darkness the curse had created in him?

Sirius took the usual Black-smug-pose. He was confident he was behaving way too much like his cousin, but hell, they weren't cousins for nothing. So many times he had been disgusted by their likeness, when their beliefs were so different, but now he could use it.

“What, never seen a woman in pain before? My filthy cousin might have been a fool unable to see where his true benefits lay, but he wasn't unable to unflict damages in a duel.”

Yup. Let's begin by insulting himself. And the sentence was great, since changing only two words could make it all too much true about Bella instead of him. Apparently their opinions on each other were basically the same.

“Now, Severus, could you lower the wand, so that I can walk away without feeling threatened?”

When Bellatrix Lestrange felt threatened, the one who caused it usually had trouble breathing the next minute. Most of the Death Eaters complied.

But Snape knew better, and as much as it sickened him to admit it, Sirius knew he was right. Two Death Eaters had heard Bella's request to the potion master, and they weren't likely to buy it so easily. If the two of them simply walked away now, it would seem dubious. Snivellus' spying was likely to be hindered and his own chances to get away would go way down.

“Who are you?”

Snape's voice was low and all but friendly. Fellow Death Eaters froze upon hearing it.

“Right. Bella's exposed me quite well, hasn't she?”

Concerned looks of incomprehension were shared amongst the public. Maybe Lestrange had definitely lost it? It wouldn't be surprising, after all those years with the dementors.

Bella's mouth widened in a sly smile that Sirius and her shared.

“Snivellus.”

The shock was consequent.

Wholly out-of-it Death Eaters saw Severus Snape's eyes widening, two wands being almost thrown at each other, several spells making holes in the walls of the room. Sirius ducked and rolled on the floor, stood up with a devilish grin at the door, and ran out. Severus swore and went after him.

They were all sure that Snape and Lestrange had simply gone mad.

Like, really, really crazy. Crazy to the point that they'd better go after them before something tragic happened. And they weren't talking about one of them being killed. Snape and Lestrange were dangerous enough to blow up half of the castle if they put their heart into it. An event the Dark Lord would middly appreciate. And that could result in some more deaths, though accidental this time. Unless the Dark Lord decided to step in. Which was only this unlikely to happen.

And even if they didn't know that Bellatrix wasn't Bellatrix, they were right about the danger Severus and Sirius represented battling each other. Even if they were doing it for the show, at the moment.

Sirius Black was as freaking deadly as his cousin. And maybe even more dangerous.

“What the hell does that mean, Black?!”

“I'm trying to get to the floo network and go back home.”

Snape misdirected a spell to a wall on purpose. He wasn't going to kill Black, but he had to make it look like he was actually trying to. Now that the other Death Eaters were far enough not to hear, he could ask some questions to try and understand what the hell had happened.

“You know that's not what I'm talking about. You became a bit too much feminin lately, if you know what I mean.”

Sirius / Bellatrix winced as he / she evaded a hex.

“Let's just say that when Bella killed me, I used some family secret to get back at her. Now, I want to say it was her flirting with you, and definitely not me.”

Severus looked furious at the mention of before, but said nothing. The mutt was an obnoxious bastard, so a bit of stupidity even in such a situation was to be expected.

Two Death Eaters caught up to them, and Sirius decided it was definitely the moment to take his leave. The door to the main room was only two steps away, reaching it wouldn't be difficult. The only thing was that between the door and the fireplace, there was the Dark Bastard.

He'd have to go quickly if he wanted to survive to Grimmauld Place.

“Well, I guess it's time for me to bid you goodbye.”

And he ran for it, leaving behind, once more, bewildered Death Eaters.

The door slammed as he opened it.

His and Voldepants' eyes met for a second.

Sirius gave him his most hateful grin.

Cast a random spell at the bastard's face.

Smiled when a red cloud came between them.

Rushed to the fireplace.

Looked behind to see the cloud being swept away.

Grabbed a handful of floo powder.

Blinked at the coming Stunner.

Yelled the address.

The Stunner hit the fireplace, almost blasting it into pieces. But Sirius didn't see that, swirling inside the floo network. He had barely made it out of the damned place.

He instantly recognized the grim kitchen of his home, and wondered when it had become his home again, instead of the way more neutral house. Stepping into 12, Grimmauld Place, Sirius Black winced at the memories of his childhood. 12, Grimmauld Place, wasn't supposed to feel like home.

He tripped to the large table and sat on a chair. He knew he had to go back to the Ministry, to see if Harry was alright, if everyone was alright. But not right now. For now, he couldn't.

The Reciprocation curse hadn't yet finished its work.

Pain grew wild. It was everywhere.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sirius thought he had just heard Bella's screaming her lungs out. Then she wasn't here anymore. Had she finally died? Was it over?

Sirius tried to stand up, a bit too nauseous to care that he was still in his cousin's body.

The world started to spin around.

He fell to the ground, screaming as Bella had been screaming, only he did scream out loud. It felt like cold, very cold, so cold hands had grabbed his guts and were bending them in ways they should never be bent. A shiver crept down his spine. His skin seemed so heavy he felt like it was crushing his body, well, Bella's body, to dust.

He looked up when he heard a loud crack. The bloody Kreacher. Of course.

It was all his fault. He was the reason why he was in such a state, because this sorry excuse of a house-elf couldn't even do his duty right and be loyal to his master.

“Mistress Bellatrix?”

He sounded kreacherish, of course, but also genuinely concerned. Sirius winced even more than the pain was already forcing him to, as he thought of how he had never been anything to the house-elf, when all the other children of the House of Black had been. His mother's doing, surely.

Sirius more or less managed to raise his head up, and began vomiting a black, dark, evil liquid.

It lasted at least twenty seconds.

Then Sirius Black felt pulled out. Freezing hooks were piercing his skin, or at least that was what it felt like, and some mysterious force was taking him out of the body he had been borrowing until now. Fear began to crawl in his head. He had no body to go back to. What would happen now?

The last pull was the worst. To be skinned alive was a joke, surely, compared to that.

When Sirius opened his eyes for the first time, he saw a bewildered Kreacher running to “Mistress Bellatrix?!” with a disgusting squeaking in his voice.

“Stop it immediately.”

The house-elf stopped dead in his tracks at the order.

“Disappear from my sight. I won't have you running back to Cissy, though. So you stay here, in the house, but where I can't see nor hear you for now. Your punishment will be decided later on.”

Kreacher mumbled something, but he was unusually polite all in all, looking at his master with something close to approval. When he disappeared, Sirius made a mental note to remember to investigate the house-elf's behavior. Kreacher would never had gone so mental as to suddenly approve of the blood traitor son of his Mistress. Not unless the filthy-scum-who-had-broken-his-mother's-heart had gone under a radical change of heart including an unwavering faith in blood purity and allegiance to Voldepants. And Sirius was pretty sure he had not decided to become a Death Eater nor to insult any half-blood or muggle-born during the last hours, so this was highly suspicious.

The wizard bent over Bella's body.

“Sorry, cousin dearest, but I'm not sorry at all. You shouldn't have killed me, and that's only one of your sins. You asked for it.”

He closed her terrified eyes.

Then Sirius walked to the nearest mirror. He feared what he would see, but it couldn't be worse than being dead, or stuck in Bella's body, could it?

Luckily for him, no one was at Grimmauld Place this night, being way too busy at the Ministry. If someone had been, he doubted his arrival would have been welcomed. Firstly because he had looked like Bellatrix Lestrange while coming in. Second reason, because of what he saw at the moment.

He looked sick, sure, like he was going to puck his guts out, but he looked healthy at the same time. Sick, but nowhere as damaged as he had been in Azkaban. Nowhere as bad as after his escape from the world's safest wizarding prison. Nowhere as drained as he had looked, even after his slow recovery in this house, even with daily meals and healing potions.

It was... as if he had never been to Azkaban.

Well, he still had the memories, that at least was sure, and he wouldn't have minded losing them alongside with the physical damages, but it was something.

So, he looked about to throw up, and nothing more. His body, which was really his to his relief, and not some random body, since you never knew with magic, and you surely didn't know with a dark spell that three persons had succeeded in performing in all history, was still aching all over. But Sirius knew he was likely to suffer side effects from the Reciprocation curse.

The bloody thing had been powerful enough to bring his body back to this side of the Veil. Or maybe it had created a new body, similar to the last one. But it was definitely strong and fearsome dark magic. His recovery wasn't going to be nice. He could tell that much.

Watching his image in the mirror attentively, he saw that he had dark circles under his eyes that he had never had before Azkaban, not even after an all-nighter. His temples too seemed a bit hollow, when it had never been before. He worried it was due to the use of the Dark Arts.

Whatever, it wasn't as if he was planning to use dark magic ever again.

Sirius winced at the thought. He had said the same the first time. And the time after that. And...

He walked to the floo, trying not to think about his errors, and looked one last time at Bellatrix.

“Time to go, cousin.”

 

 


	2. In bad shape in a whole new way

 “Ministry of Magic!”

The fire went green as Sirius Black threw some floo powder in it.

The wizard took a deep breath and walked in.

The world spinned, and there he was, in the Atrium. At first, people didn't pay attention to him. After all, there was enough to deal with as it was. You-Know-Who was back, The-Boy-Who-Lived had been telling the truth all along and was having a fit, Fudge was this close to be deposed, Dumbledore had broken into the Ministry pretty easily, Death Eaters were being sent to Azkaban right away and even before their trials, Lucius Malfoy of all people was one of them, Sirius Black was not only innocent but dead too, and...

The wizards and witches he passed by needed a moment to register what they had just seen.

Sirius Black was not only innocent but dead too, and yet he was there, going to his godson.

They could have shrieked, or shouted, or yelled, Sirius mused, but they only stayed silent as recognition invaded their faces.

Not only the wanted wizard was alive and in the Atrium, walking to Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge, royally ignoring the fact that several Aurors were present, but he looked like the pictures from his arrest, not like the current ones.

And if one had looked closely enough, they could have seen that thin shreds of darkness were roaming on his skin.

Sirius had almost joined his godson when someone finally said something.

“Black.”

Only a whisper.

“Black?”

Another whisper.

“Black...”

One more whisper.

“Black!”

And everyone was starring at him.

But Sirius didn't care.

All he could see was that, though Harry was alive, he wasn't alright.

Not at all.

The fifteen years old teenager was shivering, sitting on the floor, and nothing Dumbledore attempted to calm him down was working. As he came closer, Sirius heard him muttering, saw his unfocused eyes, the dried tears on his face, the damned scar redder than he had ever seen it.

“He killed my mother and my father. He killed Cedric. She killed Sirius. Everybody dies, everybody, everybody...”

And so on and so on.

Sirius eyes darted to Dumbledore, who was now looking at him with an unreadable look on his face, and frankly the wizard was almost happy that they had something more urgent to discuss, that is, Harry, than his sudden resurrection.

“What happened?”

The old man smiled gently, as if their was nothing dubious going on with his presence, and answered. It wasn't a joyful smile, more of a sad, resigned smile, but it was Dumbledore's way of behaving. Always calm and protective.

It was a relief, in a way. Sirius knew that the old wizard was ready to hex him into oblivion if he only dared to approach Harry with bad intentions. Not that he had any. But well. He was back from the dead, or at least that was what he looked like to every person who knew him to have fallen through the Veil. Dumbledore included. It was strange enough to be suspicious.

“Voldemort tried to get in his head, and succeeded. He is gone now, but I fear it... triggered some unwanted memories.”

Sirius sighed. He was tired, and felt like he could break into pieces anytime. But he had to help his godson. Harry was the sole reason for his decision to use the Reciprocation curse. He could wait a bit more before collapsing.

The man showed both his hands and once everyone had seen he had no wand or any other kind of weapon with him, he went straight to Harry.

He knew Dumbledore was watching him, oh yes, he knew it. But he also knew that the old wizard's concern was legitimate. After all, he couldn't possibly have not noticed the stench of darkness that was emanating from him. The wizard was Albus bloody Dumbledore. He recognized a user of the Dark Arts when he saw one. And so he knew that Sirius Black had done something. Or that he had been subjected to something.

Dumbledore knew Sirius had been infected with dark magic.

Sirius knew Dumbledore knew.

It could only mean the headmaster trusted him enough not to jump to the obvious conclusion.

He was grateful to the old man for letting him near Harry even knowing this.

The teenager flinched when he saw Sirius, but he didn't seem to believe it was really him.

“Hey, Harry, calm down, would you? You see, I'm alive. I'm perfectly fine, so don't worry. You can withstand this much pressure. So, get him out of your head. Now!”

It took several other minutes for the boy to calm down. But it had worked. His godfather's voice had somehow gotten him to snap out of it.

Once he was certain Harry would be fine, Sirius looked at Dumbledore and asked him to take the teenager back to Hogwarts. His godson needed care, no matter what, and him himself wasn't in any shape to accompany him.

The old wizard nodded sharply, and created a portkey to get himself and Harry back to the school. Journalists were already trying to snatch some pictures, and the Ministry was such a mess right now even the officials couldn't get everything to stay in order. Harry had had his fair share of publicity for the night.

But Sirius should have guessed the silence would broke once the Boy-Who-Lived and Dumbledore would be gone. He should have guessed that all eyes would dart back to him. He should have guessed it wasn't only about Harry, Dumbledore and Voldemort.

Now, it was also about him.

He had come back from the wanted man position, he had come back from the Death Eater accusations, he had come back from death even.

People were asking questions, whispering between themselves, and of course, no one would dare to approach and talk to him in person.

Sirius snorted and sat on the remains of the Foutain of Magical Brethren. He was feeling sick. Mentally and physically. All he wanted was to sit here, in silence, and wait for Remus and the others to come back from the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore had told him the adults were still down there, making sure with other Aurors that no Death Eater was hiding behind a shelf.

Sirius wondered if they had found the purple and yellow Death Eater yet.

What would Remus say?

What would all the members of the Order say?

They had seen him die.

Well, he could still argue that little was known about the Veil, that maybe it wasn't a path to death.

As if they'd believe that. He was literally engulfed in dark magic, and he thought they wouldn't notice? In the heat of the moment, maybe. But he was just this much eligible for a prolonged time in St. Mungo's. No way he'd be able to hide his state from the Healers.

And hell, he had a body that looked something like fifteen years younger than it should.

He couldn't hide that, could he?

People weren't whispering anymore, and Sirius looked up as footsteps made it known that several persons were coming to him.

Of course.

Five Aurors were surrounding him, wands pulled out, and Cornelius Fudge was standing behind them, clearly as dumbfounded as before, but willing to act, even if foolishly. No one would say he hadn't done anything the very night He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been known to be alive and killing, so to say.

Still, he looked like he was about to puke his guts out.

Welcome to the club, man.

“Sirius Orion Black?”

Sirius recognized the senior Auror as part of his own team back in the day, well, what should have become his team if Peter hadn't...

He nodded carefully. He knew everyone was basically on edge, and didn't want to alarm any of the present Aurors. He hadn't survived Azkaban, escaped the Ministry's frantic search, and hijacked his cousin's life to be accidentally killed.

“May I ask for your wand? Your arrest is obviously out of the question after the most recent events, but you are still a person of interest in several cases. Your... situation being as it is, we believe it'd be more prudent and well perceived for you to be under close watch.”

In other words, they didn't trust him, and he certainly was going to finally have his trial. All in all, they were right and he was content with the decision.

“I don't have my wand. It fell near the Veil in the Death Chamber, I believe.”

And he slowly stood up for them to search him.

Once they were satisfied, they stepped back and Fudge came over to mumble some kind of an apology about the previous administration's... mistake, and his own eagerness to have the wizard Kissed for the last three years.

Sirius barked a laugh at that and assured the man he had known worse misjugment coming from his own mother. Of course, he was only half-joking. His mother had been downright mental indeed. But being best buddies with Dementors for twelve years might have altered his conception of injustice a bit more than it already was.

To be honest, that wasn't what was bothering him at the moment.

The fact that he was abnormaly light-headed, while all his body was going numb, wasn't to be taken lightly, he knew that well enough.

His years in Azkaban had gotten him to know more than what was necessary about weakness and suffering, and the knowledge he had about the Reciprocation curse was adamant about one thing. The curse was a freakingly dark spell.

And Sirius had used it, not only to exchange his life for his murderer's, but to regain a body too.

This body of his, had been created, or taken back, whatever, thanks to the curse. It was surely not stable yet. Hell, he could feel it, the swirls of darkness roaming on and under his skin.

People were still eyeing him, staying cautiously behind the Aurors as they did it, when a door slammed and caught everyone's attention. Remus, Moody, Tonks and Kingsley, with three on-duty Aurors, walked in the Atrium, wands pointed at the back of the last Death Eaters found in the Department of Mysteries. Sirius smirked when he saw that his purple and yellow friend was still... well, purple and yellow.

But that was the fun part of it. The not-so-fun part of it didn't take long to kick him in the face.

Moody had the younger Aurors deal with the last two Death Eaters, and watched over the whole thing. Tonks and Kingsley were still a bit taken aback by the proportions the event had blown up into, and glared at every journalist that attempted to take photos of the destroyed fountain, the bewildered Minister... and the man standing alone behind a human wall of Aurors.

Remus's eyes squinted and Sirius saw him clenching on his wand. In his other hand, the werewolf held onto his best friend's wand. Something warm woke up in the ex-convict's chest, something like... being grateful.

So Sirius did something seriously bold.

He called for the other three members of the Order of the Phoenix's attention.

“Kingsley, the body of my dear cousin is laying on the floor of the kitchen. You'd better get it before Kreacher tries to snatch it away.”

And with that said, every Auror present was once again pointing their wands at him threateningly, the whole audience burst into excitement, the journalists took notes. It was the first time Sirius Black had talked loud enough to be heard through the Atrium, and that was apparently to confess a murder. Realization about who was the said cousin hadn't struck home yet.

For a while, everybody stayed still, obviously wondering who would make the first move, the Aurors or the Prisoner of Azkaban.

Remus was the first to react, walking slowly through the crowd, then passing by the Aurors. He stopped one metter away from his best friend, blank face on.

“Bellatrix is dead?”

This time the uproar was loud enough to have Moody yelling a loud and frightening “Silence!”.

Remus was still observing his bext friend, disturbed by what he was seeing.

First of all, Padfoot looked like his old self again. Second thing, he seemed in bad shape in a whole new way. Last but not least, Sirius Black was not dead. A good point, surely, if he were to forget that he had seen him die. Sirius wasn't supposed to be alive. Not after what had happened. So what had he done to stay alive? Had he given in to his... family legacy? There was no other explanation. The werewolf gnashed his teeth. Padfoot had given in to the Dark Arts.

Sirius looked him in the eyes.

“Bellatrix is dead.”

It was still the same Sirius. Remus couldn't deny that.

But at the same time, it wasn't so conforting.

Sirius had proved he was able to kill many times before. Severus Snape was the living proof that Sirius knew how to hate too. Though the first statement had been proved true in situations where the wizard had had to protect his own life or someone else's, though everyone was potentially able to hate, Sirius still had a dark side.

And now Remus wondered if all along, he had been wrong about his friend.

Was he fundamentally evil? Was he bound to end up bad?

Remus shivered when he understood that he was doing exactly the same thing he had done years ago. Not believing in his best friend, for twelve years. Thinking he had been wrong about Sirius. Thinking that Padfoot was only for the show, that Sirius Black wasn't Padfoot. Thinking that Sirius Black had been a traitor and a murderer whose real allegiance had lain with Voldemort.

He couldn't make the same mistake again.

His thinking was interrupted when Sirius started coughing. Something dark and not exactly corporeal got out of the man's throat, spattering his hands before turning into fumes that soon disappeared.

The werewolf felt a shiver running down his spine.

Remus, as a Being commonly considered dark, was particularly sensible to darkness. He liked to think he was simply more aware of the nature of things. After all, no one had the right to say that werewolves were evil because they were werewolves. He didn't think himself to be wrong considering he wasn't dark. Not because he was a werewolf, at least.

Still, facts were facts. He was much more sensible to the nature than an average human being.

And that... thing, was so dark he was fighting the urge to get as far as possible from its emanations.

What the hell had Sirius done?

Remus saw one of the Aurors hesitate to come closer, and made a sign to stay away. The werewolf was already too close, going back now would be meaningless if the thing was bad for the health, and moreover he certainly wasn't going to let his friend deal with it alone.

“Sirius?”

No answer.

“Padfoot.”

The wizard looked up with difficulty.

“What's happening to you? You look like you've been hit by at least three dark spells at the same time. We need to do something.”

“No, no, it's all right. I just... need to get it out of my system.”

And Sirius really seemed to know what he was talking about, so Remus almost believed him. But seconds only after his statement, the man began to cough more violently than before. This time, the werewolf turned on his heels and went to talk to the older Auror.

“Is St. Mungo's dark spells aftermath ward still in function? I'm afraid Sirius needs to be moved there quite urge...”

A weak voice interrupted him, and Remus wasn't surprised to recognize Sirius'. The man had a habit not to let anyone help him, ever. Frankly, his friend couldn't exactly blame him for that. Trust hadn't gotten him far during the last decade.

“I'm good, I told you. Now, would you plea...”

As if.

Remus took his commending, adult tone, and Sirius shut up. But it might have been because he was nearly having a fit, trembling as if he had spent too much time in a freezer, and refraining himself from vomiting once more.

“You're definitely not good. And what the hell did you do exactly? Everybody saw you falling through the Veil.”

The last part was said as softly as possible. The various journalists present didn't need to learn how Sirius Black had cheated death right now, especially if that involved dark magic. And it surely involved dark magic. There was no telling with the shreds of darkness that escaped the wizard's body. What Sirius had done... was at least borderline.

Maybe worst.

Of course, talking about it with Aurors listening wasn't the smartest thing to do.

But keeping Sirius' secrets wasn't worth letting Sirius die.

And well, ultimately, Sirius had killed Bellatrix Lestrange. He had saved people's lives now and then through his life. The Aurors weren't simply going to send him back to Azkaban for killing another escapee, wanted for murders and for torture, pawn of Lord Voldemort.

Or at least Remus hoped so.

Sirius eyed the Aurors suspiciously, but eventually answered his best friend's question.

He didn't look him in the eyes, though.

He knew what he had done, and he knew what they would think.

“I used this spell that allows someone to exchange their lifes for their killers'. It's pretty random, and I wasn't certain it would work, since, you know, you don't get to practice much with such a spell, and casting it is a matter of seconds. But here I am, and Bella is as dead as one can be, so I guess it went smoothly. The only thing is that my body disappeared when it crossed the Veil, so the spell is trying to create a new one, and that's not exactly going well.”

The looks the Aurors and Remus gave him were more or less what he had predicted.

Horror for Moony.

Quick,-take-this-one-back-to-Azkaban-too for the Aurors.

Luckily for him, he began coughing again, and that distracted the Aurors' thoughts. Between Azkaban and almost dying from a dark spell, the ex-convict picked the second option anytime.

But this time, the coughing wouldn't end.

No, Sirius only fell to the ground, holding his stomach while a thick, black, foul tasting liquid escaped his mouth. Soon enough, the pain was so terrible that the wizard clenched his fingers on his clothes. When the fabric was torn apart, his nails entered his skin. When his skin broke, his hands felt his flesh and cold, inhumanly cold blood, rushing against them.

The pool of blood that began to spread on the floor was sullied with dark threads.

Next to Sirius, rocky ruins of the Foutain of Magical Brethren broke into pieces under a flow of accidental magic. The wizard winced in horror as he felt his magic run out of his body and rush into almost anything it encountered. Objects broke, the water from the destroyed foutain boiled, the air around him went so cold the tears rolling down his cheeks froze. As he could, the wizard managed to keep his magic chained so it wouldn't get near any living being. He had no desire to see what his sullied magic would do to a human body.

Remus looked at his friend with awe, then snapped out of it and rushed to Sirius' side.

A wave of evil magic hit him in the right shoulder, and the werewolf paled. But it wasn't exactly a spell, and if the sensation had been dreadful, if he felt dark magic weighting on him as if to crush him, Remus could tell it wouldn't really harm him. It was more of a warning than anything else.

So he went on and joined the arched form of his best friend.

One look only was enough.

Sirius absolutely needed to be seen by a Healer. Well, several Healers, even.

“Everyone back away. Someone go to St. Mungo's and ask the Healers to prepare a room with both restraining devices and dark magic aftermath equipements. Sirius, I'm sorry, but I'll have to stun you, as you seem eager to rip your own body apart.”

The man grunted something, and the werewolf acted as if it was an agreement.

“ _Stupefy_.”

The red stunner hit Sirius right in the middle of his back, causing blackish blood to spurt out of his wounds. Remus more or less managed to get the stiff fingers out of Sirius' flesh.

“How the hell does someone do such a thing to themselves, really?”

He began healing the wounds as he could, but he was no Healer and even though the bleeding hadn't been caused by dark magic, the blood itself seemed to be laced with it. Remus hoped the wounds would disappear with time, but nothing was more certain. Dark magic had a way to negate healing. Still, since this whole body had been... created with dark magic, maybe it wouldn't scar.

Maybe.

Why had Sirius meddled with dark magic, really?

Remus snorted. It wasn't as if the man had had any other choice to stay alive, was it? And at least, Bellatrix' death was a good riddance.

When the werewolf finished his work, he took a minute to breath and then looked around. His anger was consequent when he spotted the Aurors, their wands pointing at them. No one had listened to him, apparently.

When he walked to the Aurors, everyone in the Atrium took a step back.

Remus growled.

Those people were hopeless.

“Someone go and get a Healer. Now.”

The closest wizards and witches flinched as he glared at them. But no one moved to the fireplaces to use the floo, no one apparated. They were all here, staring at him wide-eyed. No surprise, after all: it had taken them to see Voldemort with their own eyes to believe what The-Boy-Who-Lived and Dumbledore had been shouting at them for one whole year.

But this, this...

Remus took a deep breath. He wasn't going to shout. He wasn't going to hex anyone. He wasn't going to be rude. He was going to act like an adult, a reasonable, responsible adult.

Oh, and the hell with it!

“If you wish to see a man die before your eyes because not even one of you is able to get a Healer, do as you please. But let me warn you: whatever Sirius did, he is suffering as none of you has ever suffered. He has little control over his magic, and I can't guarantee it won't crack someone's skull open if he loose any ability to keep it near him, which, by the way, is worsening his own situation. After everything he did for the wizarding community, after everything he suffered from the wizarding community, he deserves at least not to accidently blow the Ministry's Atrium in his last moments.”

Whispers ran through the audience, and the werewolf saw some people fidget.

At least they were listening to him.

“Of course, you could argue that Sirius Black wouldn't be powerful enough to destroy the Atrium, when a battle between Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore has failed to do so.”

Fudge, as several other officials, seemed to feel better at this statement.

But Remus hadn't finished yet.

“You'd be right, I guess. Nonetheless, if ever my dear friend let his magic go wild, we all know there would be casualties. Sirius Black isn't Voldemort, or Dumbledore. But accidental magic has no other limits than the wizard's or the witch's own powers, and while in school, as well as at other times in his life, Sirius has proved himself to be quite powerful, in spite of being gifted with cleverness and skills.”

Remus waited a moment, breathed deeply, and went back to his diatribe.

“Certainly the Atrium wouldn't be destroyed. But what about your lives?”

The werewolf's eyes met with those of a young ministry employee, who had been his student two years prior. She seemed completely bewitched with his speech.

As were many others.

It wasn't sheer luck that Remus Lupin had been one of the most loved professors in Hogwarts, before the Shrieking Shack incident.

When he talked, people listened. When he wanted his class to be enthousiastic, when he wanted the students to enjoy a lesson, few were those who succeeded in not listening almost religiously. And when he wanted his audience to be attentive, no one dared to speak.

As surprising as it could seem, Remus Lupin was one with incredible charisma. He only wasn't one to use it. Being a werewolf surely had much to do with his quiet and discreet demeanor. He didn't want to be noticed. He didn't want people to notice what he was, if they took notice of him.

And so he worked hard to be in the shadows.

But even so, one who really knew him, knew he wasn't the self-effaced man everyone thought he was.

Friends with Sirius Black and James Potter. An effective way to stay hidden.

And still, he had always been somewhat unable to completely conceal his charisma, which was equal to his two friend's. Evidence to support, Peter Pettigrew. Sirius and James were the public face of the Marauders, Peter was the follower, but Remus was the secret member of the group's triumvirate. His point of view weighed as much as the two other's, while Peter's... was rarely heard. Or spoken, to be exact.

And right now, he held the attention of most of his audience.

“We all know how unbridled magic can be dangerous. As a child, it is not such a threat, seeing as the kid's potential is still mostly hypothetical. But what about our wizarding deceases that take away a witch's or wizard's ability to control their magic? Has it never occurred in the past, that ill magical people end up killing, without meaning it, nearby individuals?”

His point had apparently struck home, and several other people were trying to walk as far away as they could.

Remus glanced anxiously at his friend, still stunned. The blood flow had stopped, but Sirius still had lost too much blood, and he absolutely needed to be taken to St. Mungo's. Like, right away.

“So whatever you may think about Sirius Black, the safest course of action would be to get him to an equipped facility. His trial, his guilt or his innocence, can be investigated later. It is not only his life that is at stake, but ours too.”

Silence took over the Atrium.

Remus gave the other members of the Order a disappointed look. A simple glance to Moody had been enough for him to understand why they weren't moving either. The ex-Auror, of course, could see what was going on with Sirius. His magical eye was more than enough to reveal the nature of what the man had done. Dark magic, certainly, and the Dark Arts, more than likely, had been used.

The questions every member of the Order of the Phoenix was asking.

Had Sirius Black fallen to the Dark Arts?

Over, and over again.

Had Black gone dark?

The same as before.

Yes.

Had he?

He had.

The same as before. Don't ask. The answer was obvious.

But why was Lupin playing along?

Idiot, he was a werewolf! Maybe he had wanted to fool us, but in the end, he was a dark creature. He wasn't even... human!

Don't be stupid, it's Remus we were talking about. Not Greyback or any other werewolf. It's Remus. He was part of the Order! Dumbledore wouldn't have let him in if he wasn't sure...

Dumbledore only saw the good in a person. He was bound to put aside Lupin's nature, believing everyone could be good, when we all knew werewolves to be evil.

And even if Lupin tried, it was possible that he decided he would stick with Black, even if the man had gone evil. Being dark surely wouldn't be so disturbing for him. After all...

He was a werewolf.

Was that what they were all thinking, or was Remus only growing paranoid?

“Whatever, Moody. He's my cousin, he fought with us, he killed my degenerate aunt, and now, he's dying in the middle of the Ministry's Atrium, and no one is even trying to do anything. I don't care if he used a bit of dark magic to stay alive and kill Bellatrix, I don't care if this comment were to cost me my job as an Auror. After everything the Ministry did during this year, I'm not sure I wish to stay anyway. I won't judge Sirius before we even get the truth about what happened.”

Remus recognized this voice instantly, coming from where Shacklebolt, Moody and several other Aurors were standing, their wands still aimed at the last Death Eater left to be sent to Azkaban.

Tonks was the one who finally left to get a Healer.

The werewolf felt as if he had been unable to breath for too long a time. He'd be grateful to his best friend's young cousin for years to come.

Nymphadora Tonks' departure stirred the audience, who went back to whispering.

Fudge, who had been getting frankly uncomfortable with the whole thing, suddenly shouted something no one heard very well. Still, he had gotten everyone's attention, and the only noises that were heard were those of pictures being taken for the next day's newspapers.

The Minister cleared his throat. He was shaking as if he had been tossed into a frozen lake, and he frequently eyed the still form of Sirius Black, not far away from himself.

“I know I just said we wouldn't take Sirius Black into custody, due to the last events, but now I believe I was wrong. The use of the Dark Arts that is pretty obvious from the condition this wizard is in, combined with the avowal of murder, forces me to reconsider my previous position. If Sirius Black isn't guilty of what had him brought in Azkaban fourteen years ago, I can't ignore his new implication with the Dark Arts. This time, we'll see for him to have a proper trial, but...”

“And what? Are you going to let the dementors destroy him once more? Is all this not enough to prove he is not guilty? This man is already breaking into pieces, and you'd want him in jail?”

Everyone froze in the Atrium.

Remus, red with anger, was looking for the one who had had the audacity to speak up for his friend.

It had been a feminin voice, the voice of a confident but angry woman.

Somewhere on his left, people moved, and the werewolf turned towards its source.

Astonished wizards and witches were opening a path for a witch wearing robes marked with the Office of Misinformation's logo.

She was beautiful, a bit stern looking, but sweet at the same time. Her light blond hair was pulled back in what seemed to be some sort of chignon, but when Remus took a closer look at it, he was surprised to find out she had in reality used her wand as a chopstick. Some long strands of hair had escaped her hairstyle, and the werewolf finally mused she had done it without really caring, as if to put her wand away... She also had enthralling green eyes, that he was certain to have already seen somewhere...

Looking back to her attire, Remus finally noticed her golden earrings.

Eleanor Rowle.

No wonder everyone was so surprised.

The Rowles, a pure-blooded family with a seat in the Wizenmagot, weren't exactly known for their benevolence. Actually, they were mostly known for having supported four of the five last dark lords, and one of the youngest sons had been sent to Azkaban after Voldemort's demise for Death Eater activities.

Eleanor Rowle was his younger sister.

Why she would help Sirius Black was a mystery.

Then again, the woman herself was a mystery. From what Remus knew about her, she wasn't one to be involved in anything dark, and had decided not to listen to her family about Voldemort and the Dark Arts in general. It didn't mean she wasn't sharing the dark lord's ideas, after all, there was often a world between what one showed and what they really were.

But it was enough to make her a mystery.

“Miss Rowle, I don't think you have any right to...”

The woman glared at Fudge, and the Minister literally shrank.

“I don't have any right to defend a man who can't do it for himself? Remember who you are talking to, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge. Eleanor Adelaid Rowle, a Ministry employee and member of the House of Rowle. I do know my rights, Minister, and I do know Sirius Black's.”

Cornelius Fudge was becoming greener by the minute, unsure of what to do. He didn't like to see a Rowle siding with a Black. Even more when the allegiances of each of them were... unclear.

But Eleanor wasn't done with the Minister.

She passed by him to join Remus and Sirius, but her eyes never left Fudge as she did so.

“Sirius Black is the Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, he is a man who has possibly been wrongly jailed for twelve years in Azkaban, a man who has been tracked down with the intent to kill for three years, a man who may have sacrificed his life and freedom to protect us from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named despite how the wizarding world has treated him for the past fifteen years. He has been broken into pieces by the dementors for years, he is currently about to die, and you'd want to sent him back to the worst prison on Earth? He would never survive this, and you would put an end to the name of Black.”

Many voices raised in the crowd.

Some wanted to hex Fudge for the sole idea of ending quite accidently the bloodline of the House of Black. Pure-bloods, half-bloods, muggle-borns. It wasn't about the purity of the Black blood, at least not for every one of them, but about the name in itself, about the man whose name it was. What guarantees had the pure-bloods that their House wouldn't be the next one to be destroyed with an... error? A... mistake? What about the half-bloods and the muggle-borns, whom Sirius Black had supposedly tried to protect from Voldemort and his Death Eaters during all this time?

No, they wouldn't let Sirius Black to die without knowing the truth.

Not this time.

When Tonks came back with two Healers, she had the surprise to be nearly acclaimed by the crowd. Fudge and the Aurors were staring at Remus and a blond woman like statues, while the werewolf and the Ministry employee were standing protectively between the Minister and Sirius.

“What the hell happened in here?”

Remus didn't stop to glare at Fudge but snorted an answer.

“Some idiot tried to sent Sirius right back to Azkaban.”

Tonks glared at the Minister, her hair becoming various shades of green and red, but ultimately decided he wasn't worth her time. The young Auror led the Healers to her cousin. Both of them seemed utterly shocked with the wizard's state.

The first one, a young and pretty woman, levitated Sirius to the nearest fireplace, threw some floo powder in the fire, and sent him to St. Mungo's. The floo network wasn't exactly the best thing to transport a man as sick as Sirius Black. But he needed care and they couldn't waste any time.

The other one, older than the first Healer, waited until she was gone before talking to Remus and Tonks with a serious face.

“I... never saw this. I don't know if we can do anything. Who stunned him?”

Remus looked away and coughed. The young Rowle smiled and made a clear sign about who was the culprit. To the werewolf's surprise, the Healer gave him a soft smile.

“You did the right thing. There is darkness in his whole body, and the pain it caused was so strong your friend had no choice but to try and free it. In any conceivable way. He'd have continued to tear into his own body if you hadn't stopped him.

The Healer asked Remus to come to St. Mungo's as soon as he could and tell him everything he knew about what had happened to Sirius. The werewolf promised, knowing very well that he wouldn't be able to say much. The only one who seemed to know anything was Sirius himself.

Tonks, Remus and Eleanor left the Atrium for a less crowded and noisy place. They had to talk.

 

 


	3. This ghostly and ghastly state

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here I am, already trying to save people. Though I'm not sure Sirius will succeed.

_Sirius was hungry, terribly hungry, but no one would give him food._

_After all, he was only a stray dog in Hogsmeade._

_Padfoot looked piteous, though. It wouldn't have been a surprise to anyone who would have known his story. Not that anyone did. If someone had known... Let's only say he wouldn't be here._

_The animagus had spent twelve years in Azkaban, and saying the prison was horrible was an understatement. Still, somehow, he had escaped, alone, an exploit no one had ever managed to accomplish in wizarding history. Underfed, basically let to rot in a prison where the only living presences was those of the prisoners and of the dementors, considering the dementors were living beings, which was not sure at all, Sirius Black, also known as Padfoot, had fallen into a state of continued survival._

_Then he had seen on a photograph the damned traitor, the loathsome rat, the one and only Peter Pettigrew... Wormtail._

_And the rat was going to Hogwarts, where Harry would be too. There was no way Sirius could allow that to happen. So he had escaped. Lack of food, dementors once again, lack of food, cold, lack of food, escaping the Ministry, lack of food, lack of food, lack of food... And there he was, back in Hogsmeade, living on rats and scraps of food he shared with a hippogriff._

_Quite humorously, the hippogriff, Buckbeak, had been sentenced to death, as Sirius had been sentenced with a life-long stay in Azkaban, both of those sentences being undeserved, and both of them had escaped their fate._

_But for now, Sirius' fate was coming back to him, as he was seriously believing he'd starve to death even before the third task of the Triwizard Tournament._

_The animagus sat down._

_He was hungry, cold, hot too, feverish, in a way, and worst of all, he was worried._

_Harry was in danger, he knew it, and..._

_Nevermind, food coming this way. Quick, to make a good impression._

_Padfoot rushed to the lone woman walking in the cold of February. The second task had been held the week prior, and if at the time many people had come to Hogwarts, hence, to Hogsmeade, now the visitors were scarce. The animagus usually managed to snatch some food from the villagers' bins, but the villagers themselves didn't like him. At first they had been nice, giving him scraps of food, but with time, they had grown wary of the big black dog that looked too much like a grim to their liking. Why, he wasn't sure. Anyway, that meant he was getting less and less food. Passing by visitors, on the other hand, had this habit of fedding him._

_Maybe this young woman would do the same._

_She first flinched when she saw him, unsure of what to do with the enormous dog running towards her, but finally she smiled and searched her pockets for something to give it. Sure, the dog was big, but it seemed underfed if anything._

_Padfoot did a number on her, gentle whines, puppy eyes, rolling on his back, look-I'-m-so-cute, and soon enough the young woman was hugging him fondly. Sirius was a bit bewildered, he hadn't been expecting this much, but well. It was nice, why would he complain?_

_After a while she reluctantly let go of him, smiled and whispered, as if in confidence._

“ _Wait here, I'll get you something to eat.”_

_Padfoot's ears moved accordingly to the proposition, clearly interested, and the woman laughed. Then she left for the Three Broomsticks Inn._

_When she came back, she had a meat pie with her. A meat pie! Sirius began to drool. A meat pie... If the young woman didn't have a thing for dogs, then he didn't know what to think of her._

_She watched him as he cautiously sniffed the treat, then gluttonously gulped it._

_Padfoot wondered if it was time for a good licking. He didn't know her, after all, and he didn't want to drive her away. Eventually, he decided it wasn't a good idea._

“ _I don't know where you come from, but you look like you're in bad health...”_

_Padfoot nodded at that. Then he realized what he had just done, and looked cautiously at the young woman. She was certainly surprised, but seemed more amused than suspicious. Her green eyes were twinkling with joy. She had beautiful eyes, he mused. If he had been in human form, and not a wanted fugitive, he'd definitely have flirted with her._

“ _What if I took you with me? You surely need to eat more, and I guess you have a few fleas, but...”_

_What fleas?! Sirius Black, having fleas? Never!_

_Wait, that wasn't the most important part..._

Sirius opened his eyes. He was feeling groggy, and wasn't sure of what was going on. There certainly wasn't a white room in Grimmauld Place. So he wasn't home...

The wizard jumped out of bed as soon as he understood that he wasn't anywhere he was meant to be. Considering the Ministry wanted him dead, oh sorry, soulless, my bad, not the same thing at all, he might be in great danger. What if the house owner had called the Ministry?

Then it came back to him.

The Department of Mysteries, the Veil, Voldemort, the Atrium, the Reciprocation curse, Bellatrix...

“ _'Took your time, didn't you, Sirius?”_

The said man froze. He knew that voice, and it simply couldn't be. Had it all been a dream? Had he... had he been captured by some Death Eater, had Bellatrix asked for a favor, taken him with her in order to torture him with dreams of hope and brutal awakenings?

“ _Oh, for Merlin's sake, chill out, cousin. It's not like I could kill you.”_

Sirius gulped down his fears and turned to face Bellatrix.

Or at least, Bellatrix's ghost.

Sure, this way, she'd have a hard time if she tried to kill him.

The wizard stayed silent for a long time as he watched the ghost with interest. All this was so ludicrous, it couldn't be real, so maybe it was only another dream. And if it was a dream, he could be curious about this very unsettling ghost of an even more unsettling woman who had been his cousin.

After a short time to adjust to the transparency and light grey glow of the ghost, Sirius could tell that Bellatrix looked younger, a bit more sane, maybe, and certainly not as frightening as before. She had this strong jaw as always, the freaking patrician beauty of the Blacks, but she looked... nicer than before. Maybe death had removed her insanity, or at least the part that came from the repeated use of the Dark Arts and her time in Azkaban. Sirius wished it had, because if she was to stick around as a ghost and maybe haunt him, it'd be better if she was only annoying about blood purity, as she had been as a teenager, over being completely mad about Voldepants and how every half-blood and muggle-born and muggle should just die already.

The wizard cleared his throat, still unsure of what to say.

“What are you doing here?”

The ghost woman rolled her eyes.

“ _I'm haunting you.”_

“Great. And to what do I owe the honor?”

“ _You killed me.”_

So it hadn't been a dream.

“Every person I killed isn't haunting me, as far as I know, or else I'd have had a cohort of Death Eaters ghosts behind me for sixteen years. So I'm asking you again. Why are you haunting me? I don't believe you're one to fear death.”

Bellatrix sat down in the air. It was strange to see.

“ _You used the Reciprocation curse, Sirius. My life is yours, your death is mine. We're linked. As long as you live, I'm stuck here. By the way, congratulations for your coming to the dark side.”_

The wizard grunted something rude.

“ _Calm down, seriously. It's not as if I had said you had gone to the Dark Lord. I'm only stating a fact: you accepted your... natural skills with the Dark Arts. You can do whatever you want with them, I don't really care. I'm dead, after all. You'll feel better if you don't fight them, you know. I'm not saying you have to use them, though. Only, don't fight what you are.”_

It was weird, suspicious, highly distressing to hear the Dark Arts maniac Bellatrix Lestrange talking about being in harmony with oneself. If she was going to be this nice, maybe Sirius should better be wary of the ghost, or she'd find a way to lead him to the dark side of the war in no time, and without him suspecting anything.

Or maybe she was being genuine. Even more terrifying if this was the case.

“ _It's the same for your... half-breed friend. He'd feel better if he wasn't in denial. I know, I've seen Greyback, and I can say the monster is certainly not looking ill.”_

There was a sneer in her tone, when she talked about werewolves, so Sirius guessed she was still Bellatrix Black, a witch with a terrible superiority complex, but at least she wasn't Bellatrix Lestrange anymore, the mad killer and torturer.

And now that the wizard was thinking about it, she wasn't wrong. Fenrir Greyback, if he didn't look like a civilized human being, because he wasn't one, didn't seem to be half as sick as other werewolves. Of course, Sirius doubted that fully accepting their nature would have a werewolf suddenly beaming and healthy, but it was true that depression wasn't helping. Many werewolves were in a more or less severe state of depression.

The man sat back on the bed, a bit distressed.

This was too much.

Or, in other words, what had he done?

Since he couldn't undo his own doing, he decided to take a look around.

First thing, the door was locked. It wasn't reassuring, but he couldn't change that, since he didn't have his wand with him. Well, he could, but... Next, the room was small, with only his bed in it, and what looked like... restricting devices? That was getting creepy.

Sirius walked to the small window, and carefully touched the glass. Immediatly, he felt a rattle against his fingers. Wards. He got closer, but made sure he wasn't anywhere near the glass. The outside of the building he was in was a busy street, that reminded him...

The man turned to see Bellatrix floating in mid air with a bored look on her face.

“Is it St. Mungo's?”

The ghost grinned and snapped her fingers.

“ _Jackpot!”_

She was annoying, but he didn't care. If he was in St. Mungo's... It meant that the Ministry had him in custody, but, at least, he hadn't been Kissed or sent back to Azkaban right away. Maybe he'd live to see brighter days.

“Why isn't there someone watching me?”

“ _Arrogant one.”_

Sirius grabbed his pillow and throw it through the ghost. Bella winced and retaliated by passing through him, leaving the wizard shivering. No one liked to pass through a ghost.

“ _Prat.”_

“Oh shut up. You know what I mean. Fudge has been saying for years I was a freaking mass murderer and a follower of your Dark Bastard and even though it's not true in the slightest, I used some very dark magic to stay alive just recently. He's not likely to leave me alone. Moreover, I'm sure I was in a dreadful situation when they sent me here. A Healer should be here, if not a guard.”

“ _You've been inconscious for fourteen days, cousin. You've missed some things.”_

“Such as?”

“ _Fudge isn't Minister for Magic anymore. Scrimgeour is.”_

Sirius shrugged. It wasn't exactly surprising. After all, if Fudge had nothing to do with Voldemort's return, he still had endangered the wizarding world by denying it for a whole year. But if Rufus Scrimgeour had been appointed Minister, the man wasn't sure it would do him any good. Scrimgeour was an Auror before anything else. While they had met during Sirius' years as an Auror in training, the new Minister had come to Azkaban to see him one week after his jailing and hadn't hidden his disdain. Scrimgeour had never believed him to be, not even possibly, innocent.

Well, it wasn't as if he had been the only one.

“I'll have to play smart if I don't want to end up in Azkaban once more... anything else?”

“ _Many things, but I don't know half of it. I wasn't eager to go outside since, you know, I'm Bellatrix bloody Lestrange, and the Ministry has means to hurt even a ghost. I've been hiding in this room_ _since I found you, and when people came in, I stuck myself to the ceiling.”_

It made Sirius laugh, but soon enough he was back to thinking. He had a lot of things to do if he wanted to stay alive, and having a ghost Bella by his side certainly wasn't a convincing point in his campaign.

First of all, he needed to find an attorney. But none would hear him out, and if ever one would, he was likely to use his imprisonment and his family background in a way Sirius wouldn't like. Actually, it'd be better if he could be his own advocate.

“I'll take a truth serum, but certainly not veritaserum. I guess I could ask the greasy git if there is one who forces you to say the truth, but doesn't force you to talk. They would be willing to ask questions I certainly don't want to answer, and if they see that I'm talking while not being forced to, it could work in my favor. Now, there is the issue of what I'd be willing to answer.”

He had begun to talk in a whisper, and soon enough Bella was in his back, trying to overhear while not making him aware of her listening. It wasn't easy: after all she was a ghost. And a ghost had this unpleasant habit of cooling the air.

So of course, Sirius knew she was here.

Why he wasn't saying anything for now was beyond her.

Bellatrix would have sighed if she hadn't been trying to play discreet. Was she going to report to the Dark Lord after that? At first, she had been eager to serve him even in death, but now... What had he done for her? Cruciatus curses after Cruciatus curses, only her madness had prevented her from leaving him and his sorry arse behind. Now, she was sane, and dead. He couldn't kill her, and she knew what she had done wrong.

Sure, the pure-bloods were superior to others, wizards and muggles alike. But was defending their purity worth killing and torturing? When she had joined the Dark Lord, she had believed she'd be using the Unforgivable Curses only once in a while, as a last resort. But soon, it had become a habit.

Bellatrix still didn't believe the Dark Lord to be wrong in his ideals, but... but she now saw he was wrong in his ways. And she also had some doubts about those ideals. In the end, wasn't the Dark Lord only seeking power?

If he hadn't been... then why had they killed so many pure-bloods? Not only the blood traitors, but also their own, when they made mistakes?

What about Regulus?

Bella wasn't sure how she felt about Regulus now. The young man had followed her in the worship of the Dark Lord, and had had doubts in the end, causing him to die an awful death if what the Dark Lord had said had been true. But Regulus was a kid. If the Dark Lord had forgiven him, maybe Sirius' young brother would have been more loyal than ever. And the Dark Lord hadn't.

What did Sirius think of Regulus? After all, he had finally seen the light, and for that, he had died. Had he earned the respect of his brother, at last? Or had Sirius only thought he had it coming? She was curious, but wouldn't dare to ask. Not now, not here. Someday, maybe, but not now.

Thinking about her family made her think of Narcissa and her son, Draco. The boy was his father's portrait, and yet she could see the softer side he had inherited from Narcissa. Bellatrix had never bothered to ask her youngest sister what she thought of the Dark Lord. Not that she would have talked in honesty, the ghost thought with an ache in her heart. If Narcissa hadn't been so fond of the Dark Lord's ways, her insane sister might have been able to go to the Dark Lord and report it to him. Even worst, she might have killed her own sister without remorse. If Narcissa hadn't shared her point of view... she'd never have told her.

Her mind wandered to Andromeda.

This sister was a touchy problem to think about. Now that she had all her mind, Bella couldn't say she hadn't missed the witch. She still despised her choice to marry a mudblood, but... Andromeda was her sister, her husband was Bella's brother-in-law, and her daughter was the ghost's niece, even if she tried to deny it. The whole disowning thing couldn't sever the blood ties.

Bellatrix shuddered. She had seen, worse, she had tried to kill her own niece in the Death Chamber, not even a week ago. The girl, Nymphadora Tonks if she was right, despite being a half-blood, was powerful, and had the incredible gift of being a metamorphmagus. If the Tonks blood had been so dirty... How could the daughter be this incredible? Bella had to admit, as much as she hated it: half-bloods and muggle-borns weren't so appalling to magic itself as they were to pure-blooded wizards.

How had she become so blind?

Sirius' sarcastic tone drew her back to reality.

“If you want to spy on me and then report to Voldepants, Bella, I think you ought to be a bit more discreet.”

The ghost blinked and then noticed she had halfway fallen through her cousin while thinking. He was glaring at her and shuddering at the same time. She quickly floated away.

“ _Sorry. I was thinking. And I'm still not used to the whole ghost thing.”_

He arched an amused eyebrow and decided to dive under the sheets of the bed. He was cold, now, very cold, and he didn't want her to see his face as he thought. There had been something about her face, her expression, that looked like she was regretting something. And Bellatrix Lestrange had no remorse. But Bellatrix Black...

“Bella?”

He smirked when he saw her started. His cousin seemed to be worrying about something, and that wasn't like her. Maybe she missed the Dark Bastard?

The ghost glared at him and harrumphed.

“ _What?”_

“Are you still a crazy bitch with homicidal tendencies?”

Bella squinted her eyes at that. Bloody Gryffindor.

No, in fact, bloody Sirius Black. She still wasn't sure if her cousin hadn't been missorted by the Sorting Hat. He was a Black after all, and even Andromeda had ended up in Slytherin, despite her point of view about blood purity and everything else.

Bellatrix knew better than to consider Sirius a perfect Gryffindor. The boy had always been vicious, if courageous as a red and gold idiot, if loyal as a yellow and black loser. Sirius Black, as she had known him since his birth, was a brave, loyal, clever, and cunning Black. Not the typical Black, certainly, but he could have fitted in any of the four Houses of Hogwarts. Maybe he had been braver than cunning, clever or loyal, and that had him sent to Gryffindor. Maybe not.

She thought back to several discussions with fellow Death Eaters. They had all considered her cousin to be a blood traitor, no surprise here, but also an idiot with no idea of what was subtlety.

They were the idiots.

The Marauders, minus the rat, might have outsmarted half of the Slytherin House during their stay at Hogwarts. How many times had a Slytherin been the victim of their pranks without even knowing what had happened to them? Of course, when a prank was played on a member of the silver and green House, three chances out of four was that the Marauders were the culprits. But how many times had they been caught? Almost never. James Potter, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin had been more cunning than many members of Bellatrix's own House, that was a fact. And when knowing that Slytherin had been Crabbe and Goyle's House, it wasn't so surprising.

Bellatrix knew for fact that being in a particular House didn't mean one was especially clever, cunning, loyal or brave. It only meant they were more clever, cunning, loyal or brave than any of the three other qualities. If not, people such as Crabbe, Goyle, or Pettigrew, would never have been sorted, unworthy of any House.

No, Sirius Black wasn't a perfect Gryffindor. But being as courageous as he was might have made him more dangerous than any of the other family members.

After all, if he wasn't out there hexing and killing muggles, muggles lovers, mudbloods and blood traitors during the First War, it wasn't because he was unable to do it. It was because he hadn't the same ideals as the Death Eaters had.

Killing? Sirius was more than able to do it. Seven Death Eaters had suffered his wrath, sixteen years before. And when Bellatrix had arrived at the scene, it had been anything but pretty.

And he had killed her, hadn't he?

“ _Even if I was a 'crazy bitch with homicidal tendencies', Sirius, I don't think I'd be able to do much in this ghostly and ghastly state.”_

“You could still go and babble everything you hear to your lovely Dark Bastard.”

“ _I won't.”_

Sirius wasn't impressed with her statement. A sane Bellatrix meant a Bellatrix able to lie.

“Why should I believe you?”

The ghost snorted.

“You shouldn't. But surprising as it may be, being saner made me wonder about what I had lost, and I suddenly feel the urge to talk to Andromeda again. Which I won't be able to do if I'm still serving the Dark Lord, as she's a blood traitor and her husband is a filthy mudblood. Worse, I'm even feeling the need to get to know my niece, even though she's an Auror, and a half-blood. If I didn't know that death usually gives back one's sanity, I'd say I am becoming mad now and I was completely sane before.”

Sirius was staring at her, wide-eyed.

This was surprising. But he wasn't going to approve of her for all that. After all, she could be lying. As she had said, death made people, or more accurately, ghosts, a bit saner if they had been insane. It also made them realize a lot of other things. The past, living Bellatrix Lestrange would never have sullied herself with a lie about her point of view on muggles and blood purity, not even for the sake of the bloody Slytherin cunning. The present, dead Bellatrix, had been changed by death.

So he simply said his mind about her choice of words.

“Stop saying 'blood traitor' and 'mudblood', you'll make me sick with your prejudices.”

The dead witch hovered over him so that he couldn't not see her face.

“ _I will use whichever words I like, Sirius. If you don't like me saying --”_

Both of them looked started.

Bellatrix was reaching for her throat, but no matter what she did, she couldn't say the damned words. Other words were possible, but these two specific words wouldn't be said using her voice.

“ _What did you do, you mutt?!”_

Sirius didn't look very pleased with her insult, but a feral grin was forming on his face as a theory made his way to his brain. If he was right, the future with his new roommate was going to be fun, and he wouldn't have to worry too much about his cousin reporting to the Dark Bastard.

“I see Snivellus and you have talked... No matter, no matter. From now on, you will call me 'Oh so good and magnanimous master'.”

“ _As if I'm ever going to say that, oh so good and magnanimous master!!!”_

The ghost barricaded her mouth with her hands as soon as the hated words had gone through her lips. What was wrong with her?!

“Oh you will, Bella. Well, for now, at least. I will surely grow tired of it by the end of the week. Now, do a back somersault, dear.”

Bellatrix complied, to her utter horror.

Sirius barked a laugh. This was too much.

“The great and noble Bellatrix Lestrange, submitted to my good will! That's a good one. I hope you're not too angry, Bella, that I can use you like a house-elf. Well, I guess not exactly, because you wouldn't be able to wash the dishes as a ghost, but still...”

The witch tried to strangle her cousin, but she only succeeded in given him the chills, what he didn't forget to tell her. When he calmed down, which took some time, and when she calmed down, which took even more time, Sirius began to consider the ghost a bit more seriously.

“Anyway, back to business. You won't report to your Dark Lord, to any Death Eater, and, more generally, you won't say a thing that could endanger my life, my position, or my interests to anyone without my permission. For now, I'll ask of you to stay hidden when someone come to see me unless I say otherwise, for I don't want to be sent back to Azkaban, while I believe many are eager to see me gone. Oh, and if you could go and take a look outside, I'd like to know if there is anyone keeping an eye on me before sneaking out.”

Bellatrix grunted but did as she was told, for she had no other choice. Whoever had created the Blacks' Reciprocation curse be damned.

Still, she somehow felt proud of Sirius. Her young cousin was certainly unnerving and cheeky, but he had a brain and knew how to use it. Moreover, the witch was feeling a bit relieved he had forbidden her from resuming her Death Eater activities even as a ghost. She was still torn between her loyalty to the Dark Lord and what her newly found sanity had revealed to her.

She passed through the wall, and looked around quickly, making sure nobody saw her, before scanning the corridor a bit more slowly. Once done, she went back to report.

“ _There's a young woman sitting near the door, but she seems to be sleeping.”_

Sirius frowned. Getting out of the room was going to be hard enough without someone watching over him. Granted, it was St. Mungo's, not Azkaban, but here he couldn't pass between the bars since there were no bars. And same as during his time in jail, he had no wand.

“She's what, a guard?”

“ _I don't think so. She didn't look like an Auror, that's for sure, but...Wait a minute.”_

Bellatrix went back in the corridor, and got as close as she could to the woman without waking her up. She was certain she had already seen this face somewhere.

The ghost refrained a gasp.

When Sirius saw her passing through the wall once more, the dead witch was shaking her head in disbelief. Curious, he asked her what that was about.

“ _You got yourself the very Eleanor Rowle to guard you.”_

The wizard tensed when he heard the witch's last name. Rowle wasn't exactly good news for a member of the Order of the Phoenix. But Bella looked as surprised as him, and she wasn't particularly smug or happy, so he guessed she hadn't been expecting this.

“Rowle as in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Rowle?”

There was a hint of disgust in his voice as he said the whole name.

“ _Eleanor. Niece to the Lord of the House of Rowle. Not keen on the Dark Arts, if that's what makes you angry. And yes, a pure-blood. Maybe she wants to marry you, who know? It'd be good, we'd have more pureblooded offsprings for the House of Black.”_

Bella had ended her tirade on a mocking tone, and hadn't been fast enough to avoid Sirius' pillow. Apparently she'd have to deal with the pillow more often than with her cousin.

“ _Come on, you can't take a joke, can you?”_

“Don't be annoying, Bella. I've been disowned, anyway, and no Rowle would want to marry the blood traitor Sirius Black. And I don't do arranged marriage.”

“ _Disowned... you weren't listening the other day, were you?”_

The man growled. Of course, he had been listening, and worse, he remembered, but he wasn't going to say it to the ghost. The House of Black had ended years ago, with Regulus' death. The Blacks were history, and nothing more. The wretched, wicked, damned House of Black was gone. And it was all for the better.

Bella glared at her cousin. The wizard was being stubborn, and nothing else. He didn't want to admit who he was. And here she had been thinking that, since he had finally accepted what he was, it would go smoothly. But no. Being a Black was seemingly worse than being a dark wizard, sorry, a wizard with a gift concerning the Dark Arts, in Sirius' mind. Bella wondered why.

It didn't take her much time to remember how Walburga, Sirius' and Regulus' mother and thus her aunt, had been with her eldest son. How Orion, the boys' father, hadn't intervened nor defended Sirius even once from his wife's wrath. How more than half of the family, herself included, had rejected the boy when he had been sorted in Gryffindor.

Sirius had always been different, a bit strange according to the Black type, but he hadn't always been so distant. A first offense had driven him away. Him challenging the family's ways had angered Walburga Black. Which had triggered a second offense. Which had gotten him to despise his own family. And soon it had all been a downward spiral.

But at first, the boy had loved his brother, his cousins to a less extent, even his parents. He had stayed in good terms with Andromeda, with Alphard, with all those that hadn't gone to the Dark Lord or tried to talk him into doing the same. But no one, amongst the “better” Blacks, had tried to get him back with anything else than violence or disdain over his own ideals.

They had led the boy to drift apart, and then had called him a traitor.

It wasn't much of a surprise he wanted nothing to do with the House of Black.

“ _Oh so good and magnanimous master.”_

The man was standing in front of the door, his hand stretched toward the handle, and muttering. To Bellatrix' great surprise, the lock clicked open after a while. Sirius left without another word, and Bella decided to stay silent as long as they were in the corridors of the hospital. Neither of them wanted to attract attention.

They were on the fourth floor, in a special area that hadn't been used much since Voldemort's fall in 1981: the dark spells aftermath ward. When Sirius ignored the stairs, the ghost knew where he was headed. She couldn't say it pleased her, but she couldn't do anything to stop him.

At some point Sirius stole a wand from a passing by Healer, too busy and worried about some head injury to notice who he had passed by. They were hiding behind a flowerpot, and Bella took the opportunity to ask him what he was planning to do exactly. The wizard told her to shut up, waited for two visitors to walk away, then transfigurated his clothes into a Healer uniform and his hair color into a bright ginger. Only after doing that he finally rolled his eyes and answered.

“Frank and Alice Longbottom, rings any bell? Tortured to insanity with the Cruciatus curse by Crouch Jr, your brother-in-law, your husband, and, oh wait, you.”

The dead witch winced at that. Sure, she hadn't forgotten. After all, it was the penultimate thing she had done before being sent to Azkaban. The last thing had been spitting on Crouch Sr. as she had been taken away after her trial.

“ _I'm not exactly proud of it. After all, they are pure-bloods, despite being --. Seriously, can't you lift this ban? I can't even finish my sentences! Anyway, I was being loyal to the Dark Lord and I believed they knew where he was.”_

More like, she wasn't proud of her actions at all, but there was no way in hell she'd ever tell Sirius.

The wizard snorted.

“They were my friends, Bella. Now they're as good as vegetables. But I'm going to change that.”

Bellatrix looked at him in disbelief. If the Healers of St. Mungo's hadn't been able to do anything, what did he believe he could do?

Sirius made sure no one was coming their way and started walking to the Janus Thickey Ward again, following the information signs. They had to be quick, it was almost noon, and a Healer would soon bring the patients their meals.

“ _You trully think you can do something for them?”_

Sirius stayed silent until they reached the special ward. There, he forced the door with the same wandless spell from before, a spell dating back to the Marauders years.

There wasn't the shadow of a Healer or a mediwitch around, but the ward wasn't quiet for all that. It was already quite surprising to have met so few staff members on the way here, but he mused there had been some kind of incident, or maybe it was his lucky day.

Sirius looked around. Each patient had been separated with curtains, but he could hear quite distinctively someone babbling about bunnies and strawberries in the back of the room, while some masculine voice was imitating the sound of a car engine. A blond man pushed his curtain aside and looked curiously at the newcomers. He was a bit like a child in his behavior, and pouted when Sirius ignored him. The wizard and his ghost of a cousin walked slowly in the middle of the room, trying to guess which curtain would open to reveal the Longbottoms.

A feminin voice was heard from the right side of the room, and Sirius instantly hid behind the closest curtains. The words the voice said were not only the proof of their owner's sanity, but also proved the witch to be a Healer. So much for not seeing any staff members around.

Sirius sighed in relief, then listened as the Healer talked to some Gilderoy Lockhart about not leaving the room to sign autographs on his own. He guessed he'd need some luck if he wanted to do what he was planning to do and not be found and sent back to Azkaban without asking.

He looked around to see who's space he had entered, and his heart skipped a beat when he recognized the two faces of the Longbottoms looking at him shyly.

Sirius took a deep breath, then opened his eyes once again. Alice and Frank. They hadn't physically changed much from fourteen years prior, though they looked a bit older, but they eyes were those of scared kids. The wizard gritted his teeth and send Bella a murderous glare.

The ghost was looking elsewhere, feeling genuinely uncomfortable. Being sane wasn't always easy. Before, she could simply ignore her deeds, and even rejoice from the suffering she inflicted. And if remorse reached her... she only had to go and torture someone to ignore the guilt.

Sirius cast a Muffiato charm and set up wards to prevent anyone from walking onto them. What he was planning to do was totally illegal and if he could help it, he'd rather have no one knowing about it. Hell, he wasn't even sure it would work.

“Since you asked, dear cousin, I'm going to undo the damage you did to their minds.”

His statement startled Bellatrix, who had half-forgotten about her question.

“ _You can't undo that!”_

Sirius sneered and walked to the two patients, who cried in fear and tried to hide in each other's arms. The man almost stopped when he saw their reactions, but he convinced himself he was doing this for the best. He lifted the stolen wand, considered it for a while, then turned to his cousin.

“Twelve years in Azkaban with the freaking dementors gave me time to think about the human mind. You and your Death Eaters friends were completely out of it or even crazy, but I wasn't. Knowing I was innocent, knowing Peter was still outside, in a position to act if ever he had a reason to, and being an anigamus, helped me into staying sane for so long. So I have ruminated for years, brooded a lot and thought as much.”

The ghost nodded. She guessed what his cousin was saying made sens. She had been in a haze for years, but if she hadn't, maybe she could have thought too. About her life, what she had chosen over what she had given up... Exactly what she had been doing since her death and her coming back as a ghost, she realized.

Sirius continued. He had been alone in that Azkaban cell for too long, and now, he talked as much as he could when he felt in safe company. Thinking that he was doing it with Bellatrix of all people was a bit disturbing, but he knew death had changed her, and anyway, she couldn't go against his word. She was, as surprising as it could be, a safe individual to talk to.

“If the Cruciatus curse can make one insane, it's because the pain is too much for the mind to go on. So the brain cut off all communication to salvage the mind. The short term memory is the only thing left, with the instincts. Once it's done, the brain has no means to know if the danger is gone or not. But what if one could call back the mind? What if I could convince their minds to reach for their brains and ask them to set them free once again? After all... their brains only need to know they can safely reactivate their minds.”

Bella crooked an eyebrow. She wasn't daft, so she knew Sirius was right, or at least she aggreed with him on the effect of the Cruciatus curse. She had seen it put into use, she has used it, she had suffered it often enough to know how it worked.

“ _You just said the mind is locked away by the brain, so I don't see how you're supposed to reach it.”_

The ghost shivered as she studied Sirius' face.

The man was smiling in a strange way, a creepy, sly, hateful way. Last time she had seen this smile... Sirius had been seven years old, and had used dark magic for the first time. It was the smile he used when he knew he had no other choice than to do something prohibited, something tremendous.

It wasn't a happy smile, but a self-loathing smile. An unpleasant facial expression for anyone who knew how the wizard felt about what he was planning to do. But more than all of this, it was the smile of a determined man, who wouldn't hesitate to do what had to be done. It was the Black smile of a Black who wished to be someone else.

Once again, Bellatrix wondered why they had cast Sirius aside. He was different, and so what? He was still a Black. And perhaps, only perhaps, he had been right about their ideals.

The dead witch ignored that last thought. She wasn't ready to go down that path yet.

Sirius pointed the stolen wand to the frightened couple.

“I'm not saying it will change anything. But I have to try anyway. They can't possibly get worse.”

He took a deep breath, his gaze went stern, and he resigned himself. He wasn't sure to be forgiven.

“ _Imperio_.”

 

 


	4. Sirius Black was something else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, by the way, if any of you doubted it, yes, I have a tendency to make the main character an absolute badass. I'm working on it, I swear. But you're warned.

 

Bellatrix gasped.

That was it. Bellatrix bloody Black had gasped, Sirius Black had used the Imperius curse on two cruciatus-tortured persons in St. Mungo's in broad daylight, and the world had yet to explode.

Now, if she tried to think about it, it made sense. If there was a way to bring back the Longbottoms' conciousness, it would be with a curse that forced the victim to obey. Theoretically, if Sirius ordered the two pure-bloods to come back to their senses, they would do so. Theoretically.

Bella had tried to put a mad man under the Imperius curse, once. It hadn't worked well. The thing was, the man had obeyed. In the way he had understood her orders. Since he was mad, it hadn't been quite what she had expected. Instead of telling her what he knew about the incident she had been interested in, the incident in which he had lost his mind, he had started to imitate a duck. For two hours. In the end, exasperated, the witch had killed the poor man. In this case, she wasn't even sure she hadn't been doing him a favor.

If Sirius wanted to reach the Longbottoms' minds, he'd have to get their disturbed brains to trust him, and for a crazy person to really trust someone... Let's say he'd be lucky if they trusted him enough.

Well, maybe trust wasn't needed, since they were under the Imperius curse, but her cousin would still need to formulate his orders so that they'd do what he wanted and not something completely different.

So the ghost waited.

She could see Sirius whispering to himself, his eyes unfocused, and she wondered how hard it could be to use the Unforgivable to heal a mind.

If Sirius succeeded... That would be a whole new study subject for the Healers to work on. Of course, she knew there would be issues, but if they worked on already mental patients... The Healers wouldn't be able to do much more damages. Unless one of them decided to order a mad man around and have him murder someone for example. But that, considering they could get through the uncomprehensible mind of a mad man, they could do it already.

A minute. Ten. Thirty...

As time passed, Bellatrix grew wary of her surroundings. At some point, someone was bound to come and bump into Sirius' wards. If he didn't speed up a little, they'd be on their way to Azkaban faster than it took to say “Unforgivable Curse”.

If so, would she be forced to follow her cousin to the prison? There hadn't been a distance leash when she had awaken from her deathly slumber and passed through the Veil to the mortal realm as a ghost, or at least she didn't think so. By then, Sirius had already been taken to St. Mungo's, and she was still in the Ministry. But she had felt the need to see him, to shorten the distance, perhaps. Had it only been because their link had been a new one? She didn't know.

What she knew for sure was that she didn't want to go back to Azkaban. Not even as a ghost. Even less as a ghost, maybe. If Sirius were to take her to Hogwarts one day, she'd ask one of the ghosts if the dementors had any effect on them. She hoped not.

Someone had yet to interrupt them, and the ghost thought the hospital was being unusually quiet. It was almost frightening. Maybe something had happened, and the Healers were mostly busy elsewhere. After all, the Dark Lord had no reason left to play nice, everybody knew he was alive. Maybe he had done something, and there were a lot of hurt witches and wizards.

Bella winced at the thought. At least, if Healers were needed, it meant there were survivors. After all, the dead didn't need medical care.

She stopped thinking about it, believing she had heard something coming from the front of the room. She listened with attention, but couldn't hear anything else than the ward's usual unusual noises.

After a while, her attention shifted back to her cousin and to the Longbottom couple.

Looking at them wasn't easy, it brought a lot of guilt on her mind, but she did it nonetheless.

Sirius had put away the stolen wand. He didn't need it once the curse had been activated. He and the Longbottoms were close. Frank and Alice were holding hands, but their free hands were grapping Sirius'. They looked at him with awe, and Bellatrix wondered what it meant.

That's when she noticed something wrong with her cousin.

Sirius was slightly shaking. When she came closer, the Longbottoms shrieked and tried to get away as much as they could, but she didn't care. There was something bad happening, she was certain about that. And she wasn't going to let her cousin die before she could apologize to Andromeda. And maybe to a lot of other people.

Bella gulped. The wizard wasn't only shaking. At first she thought it was his makeup running, but that was stupid, since Sirius didn't use makeup. No, he had black tears blurring his sight, he had spat some black liquid on the beds and his nose was bleeding thick and a bit too dark blood.

She had to stop him from doing whatever he was doing. Sirius was certainly not healed, and she guessed using dark magic had worsened his state.

So she put her hand on his shoulder, hoping the cold would wake him up.

It didn't.

“ _Oh so good and magnanimous master!”_

Bugger. Sirius and his stupid orders.

The wizard winced, but he didn't seem to realize she was calling him.

“ _Oh so good and magnanimous master, will you please snap out of it?! Merlin's beard, he doesn't even hear me!”_

And of course, that was the moment someone decided to try and come in. Bella heard the man bump into Sirius' ward, and all of a sudden she was glad her cousin was so good at making wards even with a wand that wasn't his. The Healer shouted something about some medicine related insult, and all hell broke loose in the Janus Thickey Ward. Patients began to cry and shriek and shout and make a lot of noise, the Healer ran out of the room to get some help, and Bellatrix was completely panicked. She hadn't been in a panic since something like twenty years.

“ _Sirius Orion Black, oh so good and magnanimous master! If you don't come back to your senses, you'll go back to Azkaban without a trial, once again, and I'll make sure your life will be hell in there! Especially if I have to follow you, because if that's the case I won't ever let you alone and you'll hear me whisper all the atrocities I've done in my life and everything about the Death Eaters' crimes that I know of!!!”_

And just for good measure, she slapped through him. Sirius shuddered even more after that, but he was so focused, and, she suspected, losing it, he didn't even flinch at her yelling.

But then the impossible happened.

The ghost saw a glint in Alice Longbottom's eyes, something full of hope, fear, hatred, love, she wasn't sure because it was so quick, but she saw something. So far, there hadn't been much in the woman's eyes. Mere curiosity, a bit of fear, maybe, but the mind of a very young child. And nothing that could suggest a comprehension.

Alice Longbottom let go of Sirius' hand and nudged her husband so that he'd do the same, and some recognition passed through the man's eyes. Soon after that, they were back to gazing into the room with an innocent look on their faces.

Ten seconds passed, and Sirius gasped for air. He looked around him as if he was lost and was searching for landmarks. When he saw the ghost and the two patients, he understood and turned to Bella.

“What happened?! Why did you stop me? I was almost there!”

“ _Someone is coming, you dunderhead of an oh so good and magnanimous master, and take a look at your clothes! While you were away in the mental land of the crazy ones, your body was having some kind of fit. Now take this wand, clean the sheets and yourself before anyone get to see you in this state, and let's go!”_

Sirius looked at his hospital gown and his suspicions disappeared altogether. Bellatrix hadn't tried to stop him from getting his friends back, she had really been worried about him. Or about what would happen to her if he died. But anyway, she had acted for his sake.

He quickly made the blackish stains disappear, looked one last time at his two friends, and left the room just before the Healers came in. He left the wand in the corridor he had stolen it, hoping its owner would simply think he had lost it at some point. Then he and Bella somehow made their way back to their own room. Eleanor Rowle was still sitting next to the door, and there still was no sign of any guard or Healer. It was strange, but after all, Voldemort had been seen. He had no reason to hide anymore. Something had surely happened that had called for all the help available.

Once inside, Sirius locked his door again before sitting on his bed.

Bellatrix hadn't told him what she had witnessed about the Longbottoms. She didn't want him to have false expectations. But if what he had done had worked... The news would be so enormous they'd hear about it.

Once inside, Sirius began to pace around the room, and Bella had to threaten to go outside and tell tales of their childhood to the first person she'd meet for him to lie down and rest. The ghost smirked when she saw she had been right and Sirius had fallen asleep in less than two minutes.

Bellatrix spent the next hours wondering if a ghost could somehow sleep too, and was disappointed to see once again that no, she wasn't likely to succeed in falling asleep. She had searched for memories of Binns' lessons, and even that hadn't made her more prone to sleep.

So she was carelessly floating around the room while gazing into nothingness when the door opened, revealing not only the Rowle girl, but also Sirius' half-breed friend, Alastor Moody and an Auror she didn't know. The woman was most likely there to keep an eye on the visitors.

Bellatrix stuck herself to the ceiling, but she had the horrible feeling this trick would not work with Moody's magical eye.

“Has he been conscious since last time?”

Bella listened to Lupin's voice.

She found herself surprised to like to listen to his voice.

The man was a werewolf, she knew that, but if she hadn't... Well, there was also the fact that he was only a half-blood. But, nonetheless, when she heard this wizard talking, because he was first and foremost a wizard, when Greyback was first and foremost a vicious beast, she had this feeling in her chest. This feeling that the werewolf held more nobility than most of the pure-bloods.

Sirius had gotten an invaluable friend, she knew it only listening to Lupin's voice.

In a way, he reminded her of Dumbledore. Kind, calm, knowing, yet capable. If he hadn't been bitten by Greyback, he would have been someone. Bella knew it in her non-existant flesh.

Eleanor Rowle shook her head.

“Not as far as I know. What is certain is that he didn't ask for anything or anyone through the door, so I guess he was asleep. But, well, since I'm not a guard, and I'm here on my own will, it wasn't my duty to monitor him, I believe.”

The young woman glared at the female Auror. They hadn't even let anyone in the room while the guards were away, and if Sirius Black had suddenly needed medical care, even a Healer couldn't have come into the room. If anything, Eleanor was frankly displeased with the Ministry right now.

The Auror held up her hands and glared back.

“Sorry if we're a bit busy with Death Eaters running free in the whole country! Maybe you could ask your big brother to slow down the pace, Miss Rowle.”

The young woman winced at the accusation, but she wasn't going to stay silent. Yes, her brother was a Death Eater, but she loathed him as much as she hated Voldemort. After all, the young pureblooded witch had half-blood and muggle-born friends, and she even knew a bunch of perfectly non-magical muggles. Hell, she knew some men and women who were brighter than most of the known, pure-bloods Death Eaters, and they were only muggles. Jane Mauss, for instance, was a genius in science, and could be frightening when she wanted to. And to do that, she didn't need a wand or any magical powers.

“If I were to meet with Thorfinn, believe my words when I say I wouldn't waste time talking to him, and would more likely stun him on the spot before taking him here.”

Bella refrained a laugh. Thorfinn Rowle was an idiot, that she knew, but he was a bit more powerful than that. An idiot, and powerful. The worst combination ever.

But then the ghost saw Eleanor's face, and all of a sudden she wasn't so sure the young witch wouldn't be able to take down her brother if she was given the chance. Thinking back to her conversations with Thorfinn Rowle, Bella tried to remember if he had said anything about his sister. Their conversations, if they could really be called that, had been scarce. Bellatrix hadn't been really eager to talk to the wizard, for he was an utter fool.

Thorfinn Rowle did seldom talk about his sister, and when he did, it was mostly to belittle her for her friends. Blood traitors, half-bloods, muggle-borns, even muggles! But she also remembered one occasion, when he had let it slip that she had gotten full marks in all her exams. And when Bellatrix had asked the younger Death Eaters about the girl, wondering if she was really not fit to be one of them in the future, after all, she was a pure-blood... Witches and wizards alike had shuddered at the mention of her name and had never answered her question. At the time, Bellatrix had been this close to believe they were scared of Eleanor Rowle, though she couldn't figure out why.

The young witch and the Auror were still glaring at each other when Remus Lupin sighed and asked them to be a bit more calm. He was here to see how Sirius was doing, not to hear insults being thrown between strangers.

“Alastor, would you tell me if he's better? Last time we came he had almost eliminated the darkness that had invaded his body, according to the Healers.”

The ex-Auror grunted something that sounded vaguely like a “yes” and his magical eye went to the sleeping form in the bed. Almost immediately, Moody's face became even more of a mask of horror; he had frowned and winced at the same time, causing his disfigured visage to morph into something even Bella wasn't sure to be human-like.

“Either the Healers lied to you, Lupin, or Black is having a dark magic relapse.”

The werewolf rushed to his friend's side and removed the bed's sheets in a hurried gesture.

Sirius was shaking a little, his hands gripping his hospital gown so tightly his joints were white. He was sleeping, and seemed to be having a nightmare, for he was muttering things in his sleep. From where she was, stuck to the ceiling, Bella could see the very black tears dripping and defiling the white pillow she had been aimed at with not long before. Lupin gasped when he saw the drops of blackish and thick blood, that had left a trail from Sirius' nose to his chin.

“What the hell is that?!”

Now that she wasn't panicking, unlike the first time she had seen the phenomenon, Bellatrix noticed that his cousin was also bleeding from his ears, though not as much as from his nose. Worried, she tried to move to get a better angle.

Alastor Moody's magical eye went white at the very time the ghost moved, now directed to the ceiling. The ex-Auror stiffened at what the eye showed him, but he said nothing, pretending to be too preoccupied with the wizard whose blood had been half-substituted with a liquid substance that was definitely affiliated with dark magic. He silently cast ghost-proof wards at the walls, the ceiling and the floor, hoping it would hold long enough for him to interrogate the witch's ghost that was hiding under the ceiling once the others'd have left. Ghost-proof wards were unstable at best and generally didn't last long.

While his magical eye was keeping tabs on Bellatrix, the other one looked at the shivering form of her cousin, Sirius Black. He didn't need the special uses of his other eye to see something was utterly wrong with the boy. Hell, he had seen enough the first time he had looked, with both eyes.

Truth to be told, Mad-Eye wasn't even sure Black was still human after the stunt he had pulled with the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. As he wasn't sure Voldemort could still be counted as a human being.

When the Rowle girl came back with two Healers, he was wondering about Black and his real side. Sure, Black was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, even the ex-Auror's legendary paranoia wouldn't question that fact. The boy had lost too much for the Order during the first war, and yet he had voluntered to be part of it again as soon as Voldemort had been reported alive. He had stayed in a house he hated for almost a year, going out once only, he had killed his cousin, one of the worst Death Eaters ever, Bellatrix Lestrange. He had gained his spurs.

Even though Lestrange's ghost was stuck to the ceiling of his hospital room at this very moment.

No, Moody did not doubt Black's allegiances. He trusted the boy as much as Alastor Moody could trust someone. That is, after a legilimency test, not very useful on a Black he had to admit, a veritaserum test, though the lad could have had taken an antidote beforehand, and the statement of Dumbledore himself's trust in the man, even if some Death Eater could have had taken polyjuice and impersonated the headmaster at some point.

What Mad-Eye feared wasn't the boy's beliefs, for he knew them to be the same as his owns. It wasn't either Black's loyalty, for he knew where it laid.

What he doubted was the lad's natural skills with dark magic, and the possibility that Black would lose himself to the Dark Arts, even unwillingly, for he knew that some of the members of the House of Black had a real instinct with the use of the Dark Arts. Bellatrix Lestrange had been one of those, and Sirius Black was definitely one of those too.

The Healers were busy with Sirius, trying to understand what had happened, how it had come to be, and why the hell they had been kept out of the room for so long?! but nothing really came out. They tried to clean the sheets with a spell, but the black stains would only fade a bit, confirming they were due to some dark magic event. In the end, the Healers couldn't do much, and left shaking their heads, reassuring the Rowle girl and Lupin that they'd be in the room at the end of the corridor, ready to come if they needed help.

Nonetheless, their intervention had caused Sirius to calm down, and their spells had stopped the bleeding. They hadn't been able to identify the causes, so it was likely to happen again, but treating the symptoms was still slightly better than doing nothing.

Lupin worried for a while over his friend, and Bella really thought that the hell with the lycanthropy, at least the wizard was a decent man. She knew lots of pure-bloods who could have benefited from his example if only they would open their eyes and understand that every werewolf wasn't a Fenrir Greyback. Soon enough the ghost stopped her thoughts from going there, finally conscious of her change of heart.

Instead, she observed Eleanor Rowle.

The young woman was a mystery. Not only she was a Rowle and worrying over a blood traitor, but she was also doing it to the surprise of almost everyone. The supporters, Death Eaters or not, of the Dark Lord were flustered by her course of action. The Ministry officials were looking oddly at their colleague. Dumbledore's people were being wary of her. It was widely known that she simply didn't take part in all the fuss, staying away from the upcoming war...

Or did she?

Pure-bloods, blood traitors, half-bloods, muggle lovers, muggle-borns. She had friends in every layers of the wizarding society, and some whispered she knew personally some of the rare muggles who knew about the wizarding world due to special circumstances, that weren't only parents or siblings of muggle-borns.

If Eleanor Rowle wasn't acting in the war, her beliefs were obvious to everyone.

Yet, somehow, her family had never even thought about disowning her, as the Blacks had done with Sirius. Sure, the Rowles weren't as much of a purist bunch as the Blacks had been. But most of the family was still favorable to the pureblooded ideology, her own brother was a Death Eater, two or three other family members were suspected of being the Dark lord's men... A rumor Bellatrix could confirm to some extant.

This was enough to create gossip of the worst sort. The purists all said she was with the muggle lovers, the unprejudiced pure-bloods and the other claimed her position within her family was way too suspicious, and no one dared to ever ask her what she of all people thought about that.

So, it was a fair question, in Bella's mind, to ask: what did the thirty years old witch want with her cousin?

Sirius' situation was similar to the young woman, and at the same time way worse. All his actions since the First War were that of a man of the Order of the Phoenix, Bellatrix knew that.

The public didn't.

The Death Eaters and the Dark Lord knew he was their enemy. Yet they surely wondered about the blatant use of a very dark curse by the only remaining wizard going by the name of Black. Had Sirius Black changed his mind? Had the grip of the Dark Arts finally affected the man? Could he finally be swayed to the dark side? Or, more humorously, had he at last seen the light?

Dumbledore's supporters and the common wizard were certainly thinking he had fallen, after thirty-six years of defiance, to the natural fate of the members of the House of Black. Most of them, at least. Lupin and Tonks, as she liked to be called, trusted their friend and cousin. Bella felt a bit relieved at the thought. But she also knew what the others would say. After all, Remus Lupin was a werewolf, and Andromeda and Nymphadora Tonks were members of the House of Black too, though disowned. The conclusion was obvious: as Sirius Black, they had finally fallen.

Because the Blacks can only be evil, and the werewolves can only be evil, so even if the Dark Lord wanted all of them dead, the public could only think they were evil.

Bellatrix was enraged at the thought. She hadn't been a good example, she knew that. She had never pretended to be one. And now, she was sane. And dead, but that wasn't the point. Sirius, Andromeda, and from what she had seen, Nymphadora and Lupin, were all truthworthy. All those who said otherwise were fools, as prejudiced as those they fought in the first place. The prejudices weren't the same... but they weren't any better than the bigots'.

The ghost wondered what Dumbledore thought about Sirius now. She knew the man was no fool as she had said he was so many times, following her Lord's lead, and her mad worship of the Dark Lo... of Voldemort. She knew the old wizard wasn't happy with the use of the Dark Arts, and she could understand that.

To her, to Sirius too, it was all about instinct, so they weren't going to lose themselves in them, not if they had something to hold onto, something important enough for them to stay on the good side of the world. Back then, she hadn't had this thing, but Sirius had it. That was why she had gone mad and he hadn't. Nothing to do with the use of the Dark Arts. The Blacks weren't affected by something so petty, and it wasn't her usual arrogance talking. It was the truth.

But to other witches and wizards, the darkest magics had always been a short way to their downfall. Fighting their temptations was something most of the wizarding community wasn't able to do properly once they had gone beyond the pale. Each person's borders were different, but there was always a moment when they crossed the line.

Members of the House of Black excepted.

Dumbledore wasn't stupid, Bella mused. He knew being a Black meant you could go anywhere in the realm of darkness and come back unscathed. Therefore he knew there was no limit to what a Black could dare and still get away with. The Blacks were ruled only by their beliefs and their personalities, never by dark magic.

The ghost was so busy thinking she missed the look that crossed Eleanor Rowle's face for a second before disappearing. But the look had been, and Remus hadn't missed it. He smiled gently to himself, remembering their last year at Hogwarts, and the girl's first year. The past wasn't enough for him to trust a Rowle... but it was enough to give her a chance.

“Right, the visit has been long enough, now everybody out.”

The werewolf looked curiously at Moody, not seeing why the ex-Auror was throwing them out, but he did as he was ordered to. Eleanor left too and winced, conscious that now, she had to go to work. The Auror tried to stay behind when she saw that Moody wasn't willing to move, but a glare from the older wizard made her shiver and ran away with as much dignity as she could manage.

After all, this was Alastor Moody, not some random possible Death Eater or passerby. If she was to leave him alone with Sirius Black, Scrimgeour wouldn't dare to punish her. She sighed, hoping that the official announcement would be made soon. Everybody knew this was coming, but for now, Fudge was still officially Minister for Magic. As soon as Scrimgeour would be Minister... the Auror would have a new head of the Auror Office. And really, sooner the better.

Mad-Eye closed the door behind them and hexed it not to be opened from outside under any circumstances. He then walked to the sleeping form of Sirius, his wooden leg rattling on the floor.

Moody considered the wizard he had known for years with a renewed interest, his magical eye disturbed by the waves of darkness running under the man's skin. He had been told what Black had said to Lupin and the Aurors before blacking out, and didn't particularly mind the wizard's choice. But with what he could see... He was worried, and even more stupefied that Black could even sleep.

Most of the wizards he knew would have been screaming in pain, but Black wasn't. Again, most of them hadn't survived twelve years in Azkaban. Even those Voldemort had freed during the last year were in a worst state that Black was. Not a two years difference, more like a twenty years difference. The Lestranges, Dolohov, Rookwood... They had suffered their time in Azkaban, and if their insanity wasn't visible at first, it was here, rampant, crawling under their skins. Black was still haunted by his own time in the prison, Moody knew that, but he was sane.

Sirius Black was something else.

If he had been anyone else, he'd have been dead for years.

If he had had another kind of personality, Alastor Moody would have feared he'd soon have a new Dark Lord on the rise. With this much power, this much determination, many wizards and witches would have gone down that road.

Not Black, though.

“Get down here, Lestrange. And don't try to pass through a wall or anything else, I've set up ghost-proof wards on this room the moment I spotted you.”

Bella let out a little shriek, and left the ceiling without thinking any further.

Face to face with Mad-Eye Moody, she concealed a hiccough and tried to regain her patronizing Black smirk. She soon felt her face shift into the arrogant and familiar mask.

“ _Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. What can I do for you?”_

The ex-Auror's unreadable face morphed into something Bella qualified as stern, but with all the scars and bits missing, she wasn't so sure of her judgement. Moody could have been smiling widely that she wouldn't have known.

“Why are you stalking your cousin?”

So this was an interrogation. Not so surprising for an ex-Auror.

Very well.

“ _Why should I answer?”_

Bella had a hard time not to stare at the ever-rotating magical eye, but she managed to be attentive to the man's bodily language. The only thing being, once again, that as far as his face was concerned, she hadn't the slightest idea of what to think of it.

“The Ministry would be eager to know there is a Death Eater's ghost running around St. Mungo's. You know there are regulations concerning ghosts, therefore you know the Ministry has a way to make them obey. If I report your existence, you'd have to tell everything you know about your beloved master and his schemes. If I don't... you'll have to do it too, but at least it wouldn't be to Scrimgeour.”

“ _This oh so great and magnanimous master / cousin of mine plans on telling on me during his trial, according to what he told me. So it won't change many things.”_

Moody squinted his eyes, wondering about Bellatrix's statement.

Black had talked to his cousin about his plans. It wasn't something he had counted on. And why the hell had the ghost called Sirius “oh so great and magnanimous master”?

As if she knew what he was thinking about, which was unlikely since ghosts couldn't use legilimancy and anyway Moody was a master Occlumens, Bella winced and pointed her transparent finger to her sleeping cousin.

“ _If you're wondering about the 'oh so great and magnanimous master' part, let's say he pranked me into doing it. I'm kind of stuck into doing anything he orders me, such as not going back to the Dark... to Voldemort.”_

Moody blinked at the news, for it was totally unexpected. He also noted she was doing her best not to call her last master “the Dark Lord”, and wondered why. The ex-Auror surely couldn't picture the witch as having a change of heart upon death.

“Interesting...”

Bella ignored the emergency call in the back of her ex-Death Eater's mind.

Alastor Moody wasn't someone a Death Eater would want to be trapped in a room with, especially unarmed. But Bellatrix didn't care anymore about what her Death Eater past self would want or not.

“You and Black are linked thanks to his bold and borderline illegal stunt in the Department of Mysteries the other day, aren't you?”

Bella said nothing. She still wasn't feeling well about being in the same room as the ex-Auror, no matter what her newly found sanity could tell her mind. And anyway, wasn't the answer kind of obvious?

Moody shook his head, dismissing an unpleasant thought, and focused back on the sleeping wizard.

“I take it he woke up at some point. Any idea why he is in that state?”

He wasn't particularly hoping for an answer, but he knew that one had to throw a hook in order to take a fish, so that was exactly what he was doing. Throwing hooks.

The ghost had answered more questions than he had expected so far, and she had shrugged as if to deny the idea without actually speaking when he had mentioned a link.

Bellatrix Lestrange had been strangely truthful.

Almost as if...

That couldn't be.

But the dead witch looked hesitantly at her cousin before deciding to respond.

As if she was trying to ascertain what were Black's priorities.

As if she was looking out for her cousin.

“ _He woke up. Just this morning.”_

Moody arched an eyebrow, waiting for more.

The ghost bit her lower lip. When Sirius'd wake up, he wasn't going to like it. But it was in his best interests. Bella knew that if he continued to act as he had during the morning, his recovery would take much more time. If he ever recovered.

“ _You might want to ask Lupin about a wandless spell to break a door ward.”_

Moody frowned, realizing it surely meant Black had left his room at some point. If Lestrange was telling him the truth, it was certainly that whatever the wizard had done during his escapade, it had led to his current health condition.

“ _As for his... relapse, I can't really say anything. Though...”_

The ghost looked away, not wanting Mad-Eye to see her unease.

“ _If the Longbottoms get any better in the next days, my oh so great and magnanimous master would be pleased to be kept informed.”_

After that she said nothing else, and stared stubbornly at her cousin while floating above his bed.

Moody left the room rather fazed.

As he walked to the entrance of St. Mungo's he wondered what the hell the ghost's last words had meant. He even considered passing by the Janus Thickey Ward, but decided against it, in a hurry to talk to Dumbledore about the Black situation.

First issue: Sirius Black, alive, despite being sent through the Veil in the Death Chamber.

Second issue: Bellatrix Lestrange, ghost, linked to her killer.

Third issue: Frank and Alice Longbottoms, up till now considered beyond any help, but suggested as recipients of an unexpected recovery by the second issue.

Fourth issue: the Ministry's position about the first issue, unknown for now.

With the Voldemort and Death Eaters issues on top of the Black situation, the Order of the Phoenix was going to be really busy for a while.

Two muggles jumped when the old and disfigurated wizard left the hospital and landed in the street, scaring the hell out of them. One second later, though, they wondered why they had acted like that, the charms protecting the entrance of the hospital picking up on their noticing and erasing the event from their mind. Usually, the muggles didn't even notice the witches and wizards coming in and out of St. Mungo's that were forced out of their mind as soon as they saw them, but Mad-Eye Moody was hard to ignore.

Moody grunted something incomprehensible and moved to a dark alley where he apparated, away from prying eyes. The landscape his eyes fell on after that were those of Hogsmeade.

The ex-Auror walked to Hogwarts without caring about the Aurors appointed to the school since the Ministry's recognition of Voldemort's return. He could beat half of them in the blink of an eye, and the other half knew better than to attack Alastor Moody. Not only the ex-Auror was one of the best, but he was also paranoid, and one suspicious gesture towards him could end up with a jinx or a hex right in the face. He was only asked to prove his identity with a blood test, a safety measure that actually made him nod in approval.

The school had just recently been deserted by the students, and the whole castle was dubiously calm. On the other hand, when the students were there, Moody thought the castle was the location of too much action and so difficult to be watched over.

The ex-Auror made his way to Dumbledore's office, passing by Minerva McGonagall and her trunks, almost ready to leave for the summer break.

The headmaster was waiting for him in the Gargoyle Corridor. They silently passed the gargoyle, went up the stairs and locked the office's door. There, Moody cast some complementary safety spells, and once reassured that no one was listening or could listen to their conversation, he started to tell Dumbledore everything he had gathered from his visit to Sirius Black at St. Mungo's.

The headmaster frowned when he mentioned Bellatrix Lestrange's ghost, looked concerned when Alastor told him about the boy's health, and his eyes twinkled when the ex-Auror told him about the enigmatic statement on the Longbottoms' future.

“I guess Sirius' rehabilitation will change many things in the political landscape of the british wizarding world. He is, after all, Lord Black, and owns one of the most substantial wealth of our society. He's also a powerful wizard, and having him by our side, and able to act in broad daylight, can only be a good thing. When I discovered he was innocent... But even as Chief Warlock, I couldn't do anything that didn't involve him surrendering himself to the Ministry as a first thing to do, and given Fudge's decision to have him Kissed on sight...”

Moody nodded at that, quite used to the issues the “Kiss on sight” order usually raised.

“About Black...”

Albus raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.

“Are you sure he'll be cleared of all charges? Scrimgeour is bound to be Minister for Magic before the end of the week, and from what I heard, he's keen on sending Black back to Azkaban.”

The old wizard, sitting behind his desk, took a look at one of his silver instruments. Moody didn't recognize half of them, but if Dumbledore had them, they were surely useful.

Albus sighed and looked back at Moody.

“I'm afraid it won't be easy, but Sirius will manage. He is, as I said, Lord Black. His mother tried to disown him when he ran away, but his grandfather ignored her decision, and when the Ministry asked Narcissa Malfoy, last free member of the House of Black not disowned, to take the position, the Ministry's magic rejected the decision.”

Mad-Eye knew the Wall of the Lords, just outside of Fudge's office, would never accept to change one family's Lord or Lady when the current one was still alive, and worthy of the title... what the Minister had never understood about Black, persuaded as he was that the man was a mass murderer. Still, there were occurences of the Wall refuting a Lord or Lady when the concerned individual was utterly unable to fill the position. And no matter how the ex-Auror tried to think about Sirius Black, he couldn't see how the lad was the correct person to be a Noble and Most Ancient House's Lord.

Black was hot-headed, reckless, too bold for his own sake...

Then he remembered an encounter with several Death Eaters during the First Wizarding War. The way Black had acted to defeat the ennemies, but also not to endanger the hostages.

Yes, Black could be seen as completely unfit to the position of head of House. But that was because he didn't care for the consequences of his acts. If today, with a Second Wizarding War against Voldemort on its way, Sirius Black was proposed the Lordship of his House... Who knew what he could achieve?

Black was a potential danger to all of the Houses in the Wizenmagot, and basically to the whole political british wizarding community. He could be crafty, cunning, clever, and a danger to anyone who would stand in his way... if he had an incentive.

Such as, remaining free. Not being sent back to Azkaban. Not being Kissed. Protecting his godson. Helping in the war. Securing his friends' positions and power. Hindering the unknown Death Eaters by politically fighting off the purist agendas.

Actually, Alastor Moody was certain Black would be a force to reckon with, if only someone would convince him of his own importance in the wizarding world.

 

 


	5. Eleanor Rowle was odd

Eleanor closed a file and left work a bit early, but she couldn't have cared less.

She had somehow managed to do everything that had been assigned to her despite the fact that she had glared for minutes at the sheets of paper each time her brother's name appeared as a suspect. She herself thought that her uncle Leif and her cousin Freydis, both members of the House of Rowle, had done their part in the recent Death Eaters attacks, but she had no proof and couldn't really tell her doubts on her own family to the Aurors.

And, well, truthfully, she had better things to care about.

Like, Sirius Orion Black.

Everyone had laughed at her, when the word had got out that she read _The Quibbler_. Then again, everyone had laughed at her when they had heard about her meetings witch actuals muggles, not even muggle-borns, but muggles! As if being on friendly terms with muggles was a complete waste of time. Muggles who knew, for a reason, were few... and fascinating.

But when Harry Potter had spoken the truth through _The Quibbler_... She had been the first to know.

Of course, she also knew that everything Xenophilius Lovegood published wasn't accurate, that most of the things he wrote or accepted in his tabloid was rubbish and / or mad raving. Obviously, she knew that anything Rita Skeeter wrote was possibly wrong and manipulated to give off a completely different image. Evidently, she knew that believing everything Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore said because they were Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore wasn't wise.

But she also knew that the teenager and the old wizard were truthworthy. A lot more than her own brother. She wouldn't believe them because it was the way things worked, but because she knew she could believe them. Whatever the Ministry, or rather, the Minister and his toad-faced admirer, said.

And the fact that the article was a sum of _The Quibbler_ , Rita Skeeter and Harry Potter defending Dumbledore's views was odd enough to stir up reactions in the whole wizarding England.

Even if Harry Potter hadn't talked about his godfather to Skeeter, Eleanor remembered her first year at Hogwarts, the only year Sirius Black had attended Hogwarts during her scolarity.

She remembered Sirius.

She wasn't sure he would remember her, after all, at the time, she had only been a first year while he had been a seventh year. But she remembered Sirius Black.

Eleanor Rowle knew things about Sirius Black that others, even his best friends, didn't know. With what she knew... she had been willing to consider that he hadn't betrayed the Potters. True, what she knew could also be used to argue that he had had the potential to betray the Potters, and kill Pettigrew and twelves muggles. But the important thing was that with her knowledge, his culpability as well as his innocence were arguable. It was a lot more than simply saying “He's a Black, he's guilty.”.

The witch sighed as she walked to the Atrium, the only place in the Ministry of Magic where one could apparate.

She really wanted to believe that Sirius would make it. She knew there was no way he'd have to suffer the same accusations as before, but... There was still the problem of how-the-hell-had-he-survived-a-trip-through-the-Veil, as well as the everybody-now-knew-his-health-had-more-to-do-with-the-Dark-Arts-than-with-his-Azkaban-time issue. And the fact that he was in bad shape. Last time she had been allowed in his room at St. Mungo's, he had ended up very awake, and very trying-to-rip-his-spin-out-of-his-body. Eleanor wasn't sure he would ever get better.

Well, the fact that she wasn't an expert in the field of dark magic was kind of a relief. She didn't know if the man would ever heal completely... because she had no idea how the Dart Arts curse he had used would act on his body, not because she could expertly say he was doomed to a life of suffering and hopelessness.

That sounded too much like divinitation, and Eleanor loathed divination. If anything, she'd say the whole thing was a lot of hoaxes, and the few prophecies that had been proved correct were generally so because the concerned people had somehow heard about them and acted in a way that they'd prevent the prophecy from being fulfilled... and so had walked right into the trap of divination, causing their actions to be the very beginning of the fulfilling.

From what she could tell, that was exactly what had happened with Harry Potter and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named... if she were to believe the rumors the _Daily Prophet_ had started since the so-called Department of Mysteries Battle.

She was finally in the Atrium... and many people were looking at her oddly. She ignored them.

Eleanor wasn't stupid. She was even rather clever, if her Hogwarts years and her career in the Ministry were anything to go by. So she obviously knew why everybody was suddenly gossiping about her.

Frankly, it wasn't very hard to figure out.

Eleanor Rowle. Sirius Black.

Two names, and the rumors were already flying high.

A witch. A wizard. Two pure-bloods. A Rowle. A Black.

Some were already speculating about an upcoming wedding, and the young woman could only roll her eyes at their stupidity. Others were whispering things about Death Eaters and family and “that can only be a proof of their true allegiances”. Then there were the idiots who were speculating about which one of the two pure-bloods had tricked the other into believing they were their ally.

The witch cast a nasty look at two other pureblooded witches, who were already planning to take the newly returned Lord of the House of Black into their bed, and, hopefully, into their lives, as soon as he'd walk out of St. Mungo's. As far as Eleanor was concerned, she didn't like to use schemes to get a man, and she usually despised anyone who did this. Some ambiguity was alright, but using love potions and other even less honorable means was shameful.

The young employee of the Office of Misinformation flooed to her family house. There, she found her uncle sitting in an armchair just next to the fireplace.

“Ah, Eleanor. Still planning to spend your time off in St. Mungo's?”

Theodore Rowle was her father's and Leif's older brother, and the Lord of the House of Rowle. Unlike his second brother, he wasn't particularly interested in ridding the world of the muggles, though he didn't like them much. His position was clear: let them be, and be done with it. Him, at least, Eleanor was sure he wasn't a Death Eater.

The witch sat in the armchair next to him, and took one minute of silence before answering. With Scrimgeour becoming Minister three days prior, the Ministry was completely upside down. A day of work in there was worth half a normal week of work. Well, the fact that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been revealed to be back and him and the Death Eaters were wreaking havoc in both wizarding and muggle England was certainly revelant in the Ministry of Magic's chaos too.

Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at her uncle, visibly tired.

“I'm not letting a head of House be sent back to Azkaban for something he never did.”

Theodore nodded, totally agreeing with his niece. If he hadn't had a child of his own, the girl would have been his Heiress, and not Thorfinn. His nephew was... utterly stupid, reckless, dangerous, and misguided. The Rowle Lord was even wondering how the boy had ended up in Slytherin while at Hogwarts. Not that he could see Thorfinn anywhere else... But still.

“Sirius Black...”

Theodore let his mind wander in search of what he knew of the Black boy.

His parents hadn't been really happy about him, and at some point, he remembered Walburga Black trying to disown her son, only to be countered by Arcturus. Luckily, the old Lord had outlived his daughter-in-law... and cousin.

Theodore Rowle frowned at the thought.

The Blacks were... a painful reminder of what the pure-bloods had become. A bit too happy with inbreeding. If only they had been searching for wives and husbands in the foreign Houses... But no, they hadn't. There was hardly a pureblooded family with no ties to the others in Great Britain.

Really, the Rowle Lord couldn't care much about blood purity. Yes, he wasn't eager to welcome a muggle in the family anytime soon, but he had nothing against half-bloods and muggles-borns. He had been attentive enough to see that those witches and wizards didn't have any squibs amongst their children, while the old families had one every century at least.

Being a pure-blood was nothing to him, while being a wizard was everything. For his own child, he wouldn't care about the purity of blood... as long as the name was old. The Potter boy was a half-blood... and yet he was the Boy-Who-Lived. Nothing wrong with being from an old family and being a half-blood.

The man looked back at his niece.

Well, Sirius Black was a pure-blood.

Eleanor wasn't aware of it, it seemed, but she had said a lot about him since they had met at Hogwarts. For years, Theodore and Eleanor's parents had believed she had a bit of a crush on him. Now, the older Rowles wouldn't say that anymore. Maybe there was something, sure, they didn't deny it... but it was mostly that the witch was Black's admirer. Even after his jailing, she had refused to listen to the ones who were badmouthing the young man.

At first, it had delighted Theodore's relatives who had strong interests in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, for they thought Sirius Black would get her to see how she was wrong in her point of views. Also, it had angered Theodore and a few other Rowles, who knew nothing good could come from a Death Eater.

When Harry Potter had began to defend Sirius Black, Eleanor had been unbearable, and the Rowles suspected Death Eaters and extremists had been unnerved, while the others had felt a lot better that, maybe, the girl had been right.

He sighed.

“It won't be easy. Right now, Scrimgeour is being cautious, for Black is a Lord, backed up by Dumbledore, and more than possibly innocent. But as soon as he will be able to stand on his legs for more than one hour, the Minister will go after him.”

Eleanor looked at her uncle with a raised eyebrow.

“Why would he do that?”

Theodore shrugged.

“Sirius Black is a menace to the Ministry.”

“I'm sorry, but I can't seem to understand.”

Or maybe she didn't want to understand. That was more likely to happen. Eleanor wasn't one to admit that the good side of this war was this rotten, even partially. She knew it. But she didn't like to voice it.

And there was also the fact that she always had this tendency to act as if she trusted everyone, never insulting anyone, always cautious with her words, a real Slytherin in that you never knew what she really thought. Theodore was almost certain the girl could lead someone to accuse someone else of doing something without ever formulating her own doubts.

Her recent outburst at the Ministry had been a surprise, and could only be explained by the urgency of the situation.

Nonetheless, Theodore Rowle gathered his thoughts and began to explain why Scrimgeour as well as many others wanted Black out of the picture. To get Eleanor to talk, he had to talk first. And listening to her was always pleasant.

She'd have been such a fine Heiress for the House of Rowle...

“He's a living proof that the Ministry can be wrong. Scrimgeour is trying to give off the feeling that everything is alright, they're in control. It's not exactly bad, since a panic wouldn't help, but it's not good either, because some of those who aren't panicking are relying on the Ministry to be secure, when they should be warding their homes and keeping an eye on the children. People are being arrested without consequent proof, so that the masses will think the Aurors are on their way to rid the country of the Death Eaters, when they are struggling to keep things in order.”

And the worst, he thought, was that the Aurors couldn't do anything about that, since they had been ordered to arrest, interrogate and eventually send to Azkaban any suspicious person by the Minister himself. Yes, no one could or would argue that Scrimgeour wasn't a better choice than Fudge in the current situation. But some could and did argue that it didn't mean he was the best choice either.

“Sirius Black is a living proof that the Ministry can be wrong, and with his injustified jail time, with the lack of professionalism at the time of his arrest, with the constant threats that had been after him while he was on the run, he could rip the Ministry apart if he wished so. Now that the truth has been spoken, he's something of a war hero, a martyr even, and he does not stand beside the Ministry, but beside Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. As does Harry Potter. Both of them could be enough to give a new, reassuring idea of the Ministry of Magic... and they won't.”

Not that they had any reason to. The Rowle Lord had been dissatisfied with the Ministry many times during the last years, and no one had tried to make him look like an insane attention seeker or to have him Kissed for a crime he hadn't commited. That the Boy-Who-Lived and the Prisoner of Azkaban didn't want anything to do with the Ministry was understandable.

“And let's not talk about the fact that, as you so justly pointed out the other day, Sirius Black is the Black Lord, the recipient of one of the greatest wealth in the wizarding society, not only nationwide, but seemingly on the continental scale, if not worldwide. No one is sure about how much exactly belongs to him, and some say that after being left unattended for so long, the Black wealth has surely tumbled down, but I doubt it. For all their lordliness, Orion and Walburga still had appointed a goblin to manage their estates. As a rich man, he's one of the most powerful in the country.”

Rumor had it that the Rowle wealth was something like a quarter of the Black wealth. Theodore knew how rich he was. If the rumors were true, the Blacks weren't even “rich”. They were insanely wealthy.

“Also, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is one of the oldest wizarding family. The Blacks became nobility centuries before we did, and their family before they took the name was another one of the old households, that have died out since long and at the same time are part of the legends. They have close family ties with half of the pure-bloods in Great Britain, and remoted ties with all the others.”

Speaking of which, Theodire observed his niece thoughtfully. Maybe he'd better look for the last Black that had married into the House of Rowle, and vice versa. The inbreeding was bad enough as it was, and he wasn't going to let Eleanor fall in love with someone who had less than five generations of remoteness in family ties.

Considering that Eleanor could fall in love.

Theodore wasn't sure his niece knew what the word meant.

Eitherway, he would be on the watch.

“What you're saying is that the Ministry is afraid of his political power?”

“Yes and no. Yes, they're afraid. No, it's not only that. You have to understand, Eleanor, that some family names have a reason to be what they are. Muggles and wizards alike, in the past, used to name people after where they came from... or what they could do better than no one. Today, the fact that some people have names from a different country, a different language, is misleading. The passage of time may have altered the names, or distroyed any link to the original reason for a name, but sometimes, it's still accurate. Some of our old wizarding families still display the qualities of their names. Ollivander is oddly similar to the word “wand”... and strangely enough, they are wandmakers. The Bones have affinities with necromancy they'd rather ignore. The Slytherins had the gift of parseltongue. The Blacks...”

“...Are dark wizards, regardless of their use of the Dark Arts.”

Theodore nodded. He knew there was more to it, but his niece was right.

“If a Black is a powerful wizard, he will always be a powerful dark wizard as well. If he is an average wizard, he will always be good enough at the Dark Arts. If he is weak, he will still be an average dark wizard. Even the squibs from that family are said to be able to use some dark magic, if not any regular magic.”

He said no more, but he knew Eleanor had understood.

A powerful wizard wasn't always good at everything. Some could be stronger than anyone, in, let's say, charms, but dreadful at the Dark Arts. The members of the House of Black were what they were, and good at the Dark Arts. Always. How good, it had to do with how powerful a wizard they were. But they were Blacks. And Blacks were dark wizards.

Eleanor stayed silent for a while, then whispered something her uncle almost didn't hear.

“And Sirius Black is a powerful wizard.”

Theodore nodded to himself.

There was no telling that the Black Lord was a powerful wizard. He was younger, less experienced than Dumbledore or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But he was powerful, and only needed to gain control of his power. He needed knowledge.

Knowledge was something he could gain.

And so the Ministry was afraid of him, of what he could become.

Idiots.

After all he had suffered, if Sirius Black wasn't yet a dark wizard, as in, using the Dark Arts to do evil deeds, he would never be. Unless the ones who had made him suffer in the past tried to do so once again.

The Ministry of Magic was full of idiots.

Eleanor stood up from her armchair, and bid her uncle goodbye. She apparently wanted to go and visit someone else before going to St. Mungo's. Theodore raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“And who is the lucky man?”

His niece didn't blink nor blush, so he guessed that either it was a woman, or Eleanor had really no idea of what the word “love” meant, as he had mused so many times before.

Or maybe she was playing with him.

“No one you know, though he was from our world.”

The Rowle Lord raised his eyebrow even more. This was strange. Usually, Eleanor didn't visit dead persons. However, since the man “was” from their world, it could only mean that...

“Wait a second, is he a squib?”

The witch only smirked before flooing away.

Theodore sighed.

He knew his niece well, and she was definitively able to befriend a squib. Not that he disapproved. Only, he didn't see the point. Unless the squib was a nice bloke, of course. Maybe she was befriending muggles and squibs because those she knew were great people.

Still, that was odd.

Well, Eleanor Rowle was odd, so for her to act oddly was to be expected.

The witch walked out of her own fireplace, put her things away, and picked some muggles clothes to wear in London. She went to the bathroom of her loft, and took a look at her reflection in the mirror. She looked a bit tired, but well, it wasn't a surprise. The amount of work that was appointed to the Ministry employees was tremendous, lately, between the changes in the administration and the Death Eaters going on a rampage. The Office of Misinformation had never been so busy since Eleanor had started working here, seven years ago.

And there was also the fact that half the sleep she got was on a chair in a corridor of St. Mungo's.

She sighed, then tried to smile. It took her more than one try, but in the end, she was satisfied with the result, and almost felt as if she had been just fine.

Eleanor removed her wand from her hair. She always tucked it away in some sort of chignon when she had to fill files, and that since her second year at Hogwarts. In fifth year, she had been able to draw it faster than the ones who kept their wands in hand or in their pocket. The fact that some idiot would try to hex her every week surely had something to do with this peculiar skill.

Her long, blond hair fell on her shoulders, almost to the small of her back. A single spell brushed her hair, that had always been incredibly straight and almost never tangled.

She dressed and took another look in the mirror. It could have been worst.

The witch left her apartment, looking as mugglish as any muggle, and wandered a bit in London's streets. As a child and as a teenager, she had always been confined to the wizarding areas of the city, and now she enjoyed her liberty. She would visit the capital at least once a month, just because.

It was during one of those outings that she had met Armand.

Armand was...

Armand wasn't anyone, though many would like to forget about him. His family usually denied his existence, but yet he was here. Of course, being who he was, though being a squib, he had been provided with enough money to have a more than decent education in the muggle world. His parents loved him, though they tried not to talk too much about his “difficult birth that had had unpleasant consequences”. The main branch of the family, however... To them, he wasn't even worth considering.

Armand hadn't cared, and to piss them off, he had worked hard in the muggle world. But they had never looked his way. The man had gotten a job soon enough after the end of his studies. And now, he worked for some very important people. His career could become more than what his family had ever had. If they had known!

Eleanor rang the doorbell and waited. Armand lived in an old building in the heart of London. Sometimes, the witch wondered how he paid the rent, and then she remembered who exactly he worked for, or, more accurately, where exactly he worked, and she smirked. Between his job and his family, the squib could certainly afford the place.

The door opened, and she heard Armand's voice asking her to come in. She did so.

“You should be careful. The dementors are multiplying by the minute.”

Armand's blond head moved slowly from right to left and then from left to right. Eleanor couldn't see his face from where she was standing. She wasn't sure what he was doing, but he seemed busy.

“I know. I saw them. They're lurking around, especially sticking to the kids, and I can't do a thing. It's one of the only times when I regret not to be a wizard instead of a squib. Hell, even being a muggle would be better, at least I wouldn't see them wandering in the streets. Something to drink?”

He waved at the refrigerator to his left. Eleanor moved over there, and opened it. She looked at the cold bottles of beer, and surprisingly, of fruit juices. She glanced at her friend, who still hadn't looked her way. It was obvious the fruit juices were there for her.

“Thanks. What are you doing?”

Armand grunted something she didn't understand.

“What?”

“Stupid ring fell in the sink. Mum and dad will strangle me if I don't have it next time I come over, with all the danger outside.”

Eleanor took a sip of apple juice and walked to where the man was standing. She frowned at the sink, and searched for her wand.

“You'll let me help?”

“Go on, as long as it won't get you in troubles. Last time you used magic in my flat, the whole accidental magic team popped up, if I remember well. You still haven't explained why, by the way.”

The witch smiled at the memory. It had taken her hours to explain that yes, Armand was a squib, no, she was the one who had used magic, yes, she had known he was a squib beforehand, no, she wouldn't use magic in his proximity anymore, she swore.

But all that was before Armand's parents had given him the ring he was desperately tring to retrieve.

“Don't worry. As I'm sure your mother explained to you, the ring negates any magic charges in a two meters circle around it.”

She accioed the piece of jewelry and looked at it, fascinated. Such a magic object was worth thrice her salary.

Armand snatched the ring from her hand and put it back on his finger.

“Mine. I still don't know why she wants me to have it. It's not like I would start doing accidental magic after twenty eight years.”

It was always strange when Eleanor remembered she was older than he was by two years.

“Don't say that. You still can, if something frightens you enough that you fear for your life. That's exactly why squibs get an everlasting Trace on them. Unlike everyone seems to think, you have magic. Only, you don't have enough to use it unless something really strong stimulates your magic. And even if that happened, you still wouldn't be powerful enough to use it again and at will. I've read something about a squib who, confronted to her greatest fear, turned seventeen persons' hair orange. It's not something amazing, but it was obvious enough that the Obliviators had to come, undo the damage, and obliviate everyone.”

Amrand crooked an eyebrow, interested.

“What happened to the squib?”

“She died on the spot. Scared to death.”

“I definitely don't want that to happen to me.”

“It won't. That's a rare occurrence, a squib who's shaken enough to do accidental magic. But that's not what the ring is for. It's only that the tiny spark of magic inside you, that allows you to see ghost and dementors, can be detected, and, I assume that with the Death Eaters running around freely, your parents don't want one of them to off you, since, you know, they're after muggles, muggle-borns and squibs.”

Armand sighed and let himself fall on his sofa.

“Great, so I'm doomed, with one of them as a relative...”

Eleanor sat in an armchair, drinking her apple juice slowly. She didn't know why wizards were so happy with pumpkin juice, but she had been better off with apple juice since she had discovered it.

The witch eyed the suitcase next to the door and frowned.

“You're leaving?”

Armand's black eyes followed hers, and fell on the suitcase. A wince took over his smile.

“Actually, I just came back from the south. I tracked down some archives that had mysteriously disappeared, about strange events that happened prior 1981.”

If the man wasn't more precise, it surely meant that someone in Downing Street had remembered how the lastest catastrophes were similar to the ones that had plagued the United Kingdom up till the day He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been apparently annihilated by a baby. When things such as these happened at Armand's work, the squib was always feeling bad, for he knew the answers but couldn't give them to his co-workers.

“Well, Alexander too was sent away for the same reason, and as for me, I guess he will come back empty-handed. Even if he knew, he wouldn' be able to tell, so... And it's not like he could know, anyway.”

Armand gazed through the window and right into the fog created by the dementors. He seemed a bit disheartened, compared to the last time they had seen each other. Eleanor glanced at the window too, and both of them froze when a black wraith floated behind the glass, hovering in the street.

Eleanor forced herself to think back to their conversation, trying to forget that a freaking dementor was just there, behind the glass, and that she couldn't do a thing because if she tried, ten others would come and retaliate, possibly by Kissing someone out of anger.

“Alexander?”

The man's tone when talking about his colleague had been a bit to hateful to be normal.

Her question startled Armand, but at least he wasn't glaring at the monster outside anymore. He looked like he was trying to remember what he had been saying and finally he answered.

“Alexander White, the muggle Lucius Malfoy. Red hair, blue eyes, a chinstrap beard and walking around Downing Street as if he owns the place. White is convinced his own kind is the only one worthy to live on this earth, and yet manage to appear as a moderate elitist who take into account the future of the lower people.”

Eleanor blinked, surprised that someone amongst the muggles could be so close to Lucius Malfoy's ideals. If Alexander White was really as Armand depicted him, there was no doubt they couldn't get along. The relationship between her friend and Lucius Malfoy had always been... Bad was a weak word. Considering Armand was a squib and Lucius was Lucius, it had been a foregone conclusion.

The witch looked at Armand.

The man's features were less delicate than his family's usual features, with a strong jawline and a muscular stature. Still, he had the noble attitude of his father. His eyes, his mother's black eyes, reminded the witch of black silk, while his pale blond hair obviously came from his father's side.

Armand still behaved the way his father had taught him, as befitting of a member of a Noble and Ancient house, his back straight and his face composed. But there was something sweet in his eyes, something that could only come from his mother's side. Yes, he looked aristocratic. No, he didn't look arrogant.

Surely, Lucius Malfoy and him couldn't get along.

“Well, at least, your Mister White is not a Death Eater. Malfoy can't say the same thing.”

Armand growled, aware of what had happened to the Lord of the House of Malfoy. Despite being a squib, he had suscribed to the _Daily Prophet_ , liking to know if anything had happened to the rare people he knew in the wizarding world. His parents, other members of his House, though they didn't want to hear about him, and one or two friends.

“Lucius is an idiot. As for your assumption about Alexander, I wouldn't say he's not able to kill someone in the name of his beliefs. He was a soldier for twelve years before working for the Prime Minister, and I suspect he's there as much as a bodyguard as as an employee.”

“Being a soldier doesn't make him a killer.”

The look in Armand's eyes was enough for Eleanor to see she held no chance of convincing her friend.

His words didn't betray this look.

“Say that to the man who tried to murder the Prime Minister last march. With the time he's going to spend in a hospital after Alexander broke both his arms, I'm sure he'd prefer to be dead.”

The witch seemed to feel incomfortable, and her eyes wandered around the room before meeting Armand's again. The man certainly wasn't joking.

“At least he's not a murderer.”

Her friend winced, for he couldn't say she was wrong. Alexander White surely had killed before, as a soldier, it could be seen in his eyes, but he wasn't killing for the fun.

“Anyway, I thought you already knew, but since you've just come back, I ought to warn you. Scrimgeour is planning to visit the Prime Minister, as he was appointed as Minister for Magic. He'll come as soon as he can, certainly late in the evening, between tomorrow and next thursday.”

Eleanor still had something else to say, but Armand interrupted her, apparently unconcerned by the new Minister visit.

“Right, right, I'll do so that I won't be seen. I don't want my last name to be a problem, after all."

The witch sighed. If only this much precaution would do. But she couldn't even be sure that Armand wouldn't lose his job once it'd be revealed. And with what she had heard while passing by the Auror Office, she was certain that it would eventually be revealed.

The squib saw her unease and his smirk disappeared. He patted her shoulder, unsure of what was disturbing her, but knowing he could cheer her mood up. His face morphed into the sweet mask that was both genuine and his everyday countenance.

“Hey, El', don't worry. Somehow, things always become better after a while. Granted, we might not all be here when the You-Know-Who issue is dealt with, but things will get better. Those who would have died in battle or in torture will finally be able to rest, and the others that survived will finally be able to live. It will take time, but the world won't end because of a single dark wizard and his bigoted followers.”

The witch gave him a little smile, and the man felt a bit better. There was no way to prove he was right, no way to be sure He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would meet his downfall, but what could he do beside providing advices and a bit of hope?

Armand was only a squib, not even a wizard, and he couldn't act in any efficient way in this war that had fallen upon his family and his friends. He wasn't even a muggle, who had no idea of what was going on, and could dismiss the pandemonium as a bit more of bad luck than usual.

Armand was in the worst position during this war. Knowing, but literally unable to act upon his knowledge. He was only a squib.

Eleanor was a witch. She could act, and despite her apparent passivity, he knew she did what she could. If needed, she'd find a way to do more.

The man's optimism faltered a bit thinking she would put her life on the line, but she could defend herself. That was more than what he could do.

“So, will you tell me what is the matter? I'm sure there is something a bit more down-to-earth for you to feel so bad.”

The witch gave him a pointed look.

“Are you perhaps implying that I am superficial?”

Armand grinned. His grim seemed a bit false, but it was still better than nothing.

“Dear me, no! But the more intellectual matters, you keep to yourself. I'm sure you occasionally break down too, with the weight of the world on your shoulders, but you never show it to anyone.”

Eleanor shook her head in amusement, before remembering what she wanted to tell her friend.

Her face became grave, and Armand thought he'd better listen if he didn't want to be hexed. After all, he had the ring his parents had given him and she could do what she wanted with magic without triggering the Trace. Just his luck.

“Listen, the Minister placed an Auror as a secretary to the Prime Minister. He will see your last name when you go back there. You're a squib, so unlikely to help a Death Eater, but with your family...”

“We'll see, Eleanor. I thank you for the warning, but there is nothing you can do, and either I get away with it, or I don't. We'll see.”

The witch smiled weakly, and stood up. For the first time, Armand noticed how tired she looked. He bit his lower lip, not concerned with his family upraising. He was a squib, and as soon as they had found out, he hadn't been forced to be respectable anymore.

“Are you sure you're doing alright?”

“I'll be going, Armand. I have someone to visit at St. Mungo's.”

And with that, Eleanor Rowle left her friend. Armand watched her leave, more concerned than he would admit. When his gaze went back to the window, his eyes fell again on a dementor. He shuddered.

Eleanor went straight to the hospital, and found Sirius Black's room open to visits. An Auror was standing next to the door. When she came in, the sick wizard, if that could be called being sick, was sleeping, once again.

She still had to see him awake and not busy tearing down his own body, but it didn't matter.

Sirius Black made her feel better, feel safe.

Lately, she needed someone who could make her feel safe. Her brother, the attacks, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named... If Sirius Black could lift this weight off her shoulders, it didn't matter that he was asleep most of the time. Eleanor needed to feel safe, as she had before, in first year, when the older student had been, although not on purpose, watching her back.

Before she could take notice of what she was doing, the young woman was crying silently. Tired, sleepy, frightened, she looked at the sleeping man beside her, and she felt, for once, safe. Not long after she sat down on the chair next to the bed, Eleanor fell asleep, wondering why the room was so cold.

Bellatrix Lestrange's ghost watched over the two youngsters, once again wondering where she had gone wrong. Eleanor was a pure-blood, Sirius was a pure-blood. Both of them were going against the Dar... against Voldemort. Both of them were unhappy with the war. Hadn't it all supposed to be to protect the pure-bloods?

Bella sighed.

Sirius had been right all along, at least on most of the issues they had disagreed on.

She should have known.

And now she could do nothing to right her wrongs.

So she watched the two pure-bloods sleeping.

Sirius was trembling, sometimes, but he was sleeping. He had woken up five times since Moody's visit, and had slept a lot. Only when he was sleeping, she could see a part of his suffering. And the ghost was terrified by this pain. The Reciprocation Curse, his death, the hunger, Azkaban, Regulus' death... and Grimmauld Place. The Blacks. Physical pain, and mental suffering. And yet, Sirius wasn't unsane.

Bella would have been, if she had suffered as he had.

She had been, and she hadn't suffered twice as much as her cousin.

The ghost's thoughts drifted to the young witch sleeping on her chair, tears falling down her closed eyes. Eleanor Rowle... Not happy either, obviously.

Why were all the pure-bloods she knew so unhappy? Why had she joined this stupid war that only made everyone miserable? Why had she listened to the mad man?

The ghost clenched her fists, disappointed in herself.

 

 


	6. What a Lord for the House of Black!

_Eleanor had come to Hogsmeade for an appointment, but she was really early. She thought she could spend a bit more time with this strange dog, and, if it was still there when she came back, she'd take it with her._

_When she looked at it, she could only think of a grim. It should have scared her, but she didn't believe in divination. And it wasn't as if an omen of death was supposed to be so friendly. Maybe the grims caused the death only when you weren't nice with it? Why not, after all. Magic wasn't exactly logical. So magical creatures could have illogicals powers._

_The black dog cocked its head to the right, and Eleanor smiled softly, remembering a teenager she had known, kind of, back in her school days. If she was to take a closer look... Yes, the dog's fur was as black as the boy's hair, and its eyes were of a silver color she had only seen in one family._

_Something buzzed in her pocket, and the witch sighed. It was time to go to her appointment. The ones she was to meet were mostly snobbish, patronizing Slytherins, and she wouldn't hear the end of it if she arrived late._

_Well, pure-bloods' duties._

_Eleanor patted the dog on the head, and went away._

_Three wizards were waiting near the Three Broomsticks. Their robes were expensive and tailored, their faces were cold and they looked at the people passing by as if they were scum. No doubt, they were the ones she was supposed to meet with._

“ _We almost had to wait, Rowle.”_

_The witch refrained from rolling her eyes or wincing, and put on her own cold-and-insensitive-pure-blood mask. Her gaze went straight to the man with the long blond hair, that she knew to be the leader of the small group._

“ _Shut up, Malfoy, your voice is getting on my nerves.”_

Something, no, someone, was shaking her.

Eleanor woke up suddenly, and found herself being stared at by a man with black hair and silver eyes. She blinked once, twice, thrice, wondering why he reminded her of a dog, a big, black dog that didn't really look like him... except for the black hair and the grey eyes.

“You fell asleep.”

The witch nodded, a blank air on her face. She was fairly certain that in order to dream, one had to be asleep, so the man was likely saying the truth. But she couldn't remember falling asleep.

Sirius, sitting up in his hospital bed, observed the young woman curiously, wondering what she was doing in his room. She clearly wasn't a Healer, so she wasn't here to look after him. She looked a bit younger than he was, five years maybe, and he had this feeling he had already met her, long ago, and seen her, not so long ago. His eyes fell on her golden earrings, and he barely refrained a growl.

The armorial bearings of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Rowle.

Just his luck.

He searched his memory for the Rowle family tree, that his mother had almost beaten into him along with all the other Noble and Most Ancient Houses' family trees when he had been five years old. He had learned the Black family tree at four. The Noble and Ancient Houses' family trees, such as the Malfoys', had waited for his sixth birthday, since it was less of a problem if he were to insult a Malfoy than a Nott. Not that the punishment would be less terrible, his mother had made that clear. No, the only thing was that the social consequences of his insult would be less important.

Given her age, he'd say she was either Malicia or Eleanor Rowle. Eleanor, surely. Bella had said so.

Sirius saw an almost shy smile form on her lips, and she answered his interrogations for him.

“The name's Eleanor.”

The wizard nodded, wondering why she wasn't more formal. Then again, he'd rather have her act natural. The whole etiquette thing was less and less important nowadays, though in certain circumstances it had to be followed, and as he was sitting in a hospital bed wearing a hospital gown, he wasn't going to be really formal either.

Screw the etiquette.

“Sirius.”

“I know, Lord Black.”

The man smirked at the first part of the sentence.

Of course, everybody knew who he was.

First wizard ever to escape alone from the freaking Azkaban prison, not really an ex-convict since he had never had a trial, considered for years as a bloody traitor and a mass murderer, waiting to be cleared of all charges, and, let's not forget, recently dead, recently alive again.

Then he winced at the last part of the sentence.

Lord Black.

So much for not bothering with the formalities.

Lord Black.

Yuck.

He didn't want to think about his grandfather right now.

And Lord of what, exactly?

An immense wealth and a ridiculous amount of political influence. But where was his family? Where were the Blacks?

Narcissa Malfoy née Black, wife of Lucius Malfoy. Not her son, because he was a Malfoy before being a Black. Andromeda Tonks née Black, and her daughter Nymphadora Tonks, and thereby Edward Tonks, since he wasn't part of any House. But disowned. Bellatrix Lestrange née Black, dead. And haunting him. Regulus Black, dead. The others? Dorea Potter née Black, Lucretia Prewett née Black, Orion and Walburga Black, all the old ones were dead. There wasn't much left of the House of Black.

Not that he was sad about it. The Blacks were rotten from the root, he knew that well, as one of them. But still. He had no family left. Though he was definitely reinstating Andromeda and accepting her family by the same token, if he made it out of his trial. No, even before that.

Speaking of his trial, Moody had said it would be soon, as he was almost healed.

What a Lord for the House of Black!

No family, and awaiting for a trial.

He was no Lord.

“Sirius.”

The witch nodded.

“Very well. Sirius.”

“Why are you here?”

“I'm the one who managed to keep you here when Fudge wanted to send you right back to Azkaban.”

The man was surprised, and decided to be a bit curious.

“I guess I should thank you, then. But that aside... Why did you do it?”

Eleanor smiled. He had no idea, hadn't he?

“Do you know how interesting you are, Sirius?”

The wizard dismissed the question, as if to say that he wasn't so incredible. But in truth, if such a reason wasn't expected from a member of a Noble and Most Ancient House, it was reassuring. Well, sort of. Sirius guessed the young woman meant exactly what she had said, but who knew, maybe she was a Death Eater trying to see if he'd be interested in a job offer, now that he had publicly accepted his skills in the Dark Arts. Or maybe the witch was also a journalist, and was trying to get information out of him.

An awkward silence took place after that, and they began to send glances at one another each time they thought the other one wasn't looking. After a while, Sirius was bored to death, and Eleanor was still trying to find something to say. She couldn't possibly leave when she had spoken only five times, not after all the time she had spent next to him, when he had been sleeping, when he hadn't been lucid enough, too busy fighting the pain in his body.

It was Sirius who broke the silence, as he had been thinking about his near future once again. He did that a lot, when he was really awake, and not trying to tear his body into pieces.

“Do you happen to know when they have scheduled my trial?”

The sudden end to the silence startled Eleanor, who still managed to keep her composure anyway.

“Five days, I believe. Yesterday, the Healers said you'd be good within two days, and Scrimgeour immediately decided that you'd be tried wedesday. I personally think he's hoping for you to be still sick, so that you wouldn't be able to participate as you should, and even less able to defend yourself.”

Sirius nodded, well aware of the new Minister for Magic's policy. Tonks had complained about her ex-boss for at least two hours the day before.

“Well, Scrimgeour will be surprised. Could you call for a Healer? If I can leave, I'll do that right away. I have many things to do, such as making my Lordship official, and a visit to Gringott's.”

Eleanor wondered; had the man really planned his escape route for the trial?

“You're certain your body can take it?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, and pointed at his left leg.

“Yesterday I tore the skin from my ankle open. Today there is nothing left of the wound, and it's not only thanks to St. Mungo's Healers. The fact that this body is new, and made thanks to the Dark Arts, isn't benign. As long as this body isn't complete and operational, the spell that created it will fight to get it back to its normal state if anything happens to it. The process is supposed to take something like a month, because it is the time my body should take to reject the darkness that has created it. Thanks to the Healers, the elimination of this darkness has been reduced by half.”

The witch listened, obviously not sure of the truth in his words, but willing to trust him.

As for him, Sirius was disguted with his own knowledge of dark magic. Everything that he had unsuccessfully tried to forget during his whole life had come back to his brain as soon as he had used the Imperius curse on the Longbottoms. Of course, he had always known it was still there, somewhere in the back of his mind, but it was purely haunting him now. Because what the young boy had read in his childhood, what the teenager had ignored while in Hogwarts, what the adult had spat on during the war and his time in Azkaban, Sirius Black could never forget. As he had remembered everything in school by simply reading it, his knowledge of the Dark Arts only demanded one reading.

Read it once, know it forever.

“If I'm hurt now, and the wound doesn't disappear in less than one minute, then it means the darkness is gone. If the darkness is gone, then I have no reason to stay here anymore.”

Eleanor nodded, unsure of what to do, but eventually decided that getting a Healer couldn't hurt. After all, they were the only ones who could sign Black out of St. Mungo's, and the wizard couldn't do anything if they disagreed to his leaving.

Well, he could still kill the Healer or blow up the hospital to be free, but it wasn't a good idea to execute for someone awaiting their trial.

“I'll ask for a Healer. I suppose that if you leave, you'll have one or two Aurors right at your hip?”

Sirius grunted an agreement.

“More like five of them, if Moody and Tonks are being truthful. To make sure no one will hurt me before the trial, Scrimgeour said, it seems. I suspect it's more about me not running away once more. It wouldn't be good for the Ministry if the wrongly incarcerated Prisoner of Azkaban suddenly decided that the world has been too mean to him and finally wanted to become a villain.”

He snorted as he finished his sentence. The idea was ridiculous, but it was definitely something the Ministry could come up with.

Eleanor left the room to go and fetch a Healer.

Sirius looked at the ceiling, searching for Bella. He found her floating against the further wall of the room with a pensive look on her face. As she wasn't reacting to his calls, he finally threw his pillow at her, and the ghost almost passed through the wall in shock.

“ _Could you please stop doing that?”_

It had been Sirius' way to get her attention and basically unnerve her for the last three days.

The wizard raised an eyebrow, still sitting on his bed.

“I won't. But I can reinstate the 'oh so good and magnanimous master' rule, if you're being so uninteresting.”

The ghost winced at the mention of the order that had had her watch her words during thirty-seven hours, carefully avoiding sentences in which she had to name him.

“ _Please don't.”_

“Then listen to me. I'm leaving.”

Bella made a funny face, and after a short silence, she was kneeling next to the bed, begging him with false and ghostly tears in the eyes.

“ _No, dear husband, please, don't leave me alone! I'll do whatever you want, I'm even ready to have a child! Don't leave me, don't leave me alone! I know I haven't been a good wife, but I swear it will change, I will, if you give me another chance!!!”_

After what the ghost was once again standing, a straight face on, careful not to let any emotion be seen, even if she wanted to laugh till she died of exhaustion. That'd take a long time, if she did.

“ _What do you want me to do?”_

Sirius smirked at her antics, finally getting his cousin back, after so many years.

Of course, Bella had always been kind of dangerous, and not exactly the nicest girl he had known, but what she had become as she had grown up... It couldn't be compared. There had been times when she had been almost a bully to her cousins, times when Sirius had been worried by her actions towards Regulus... But she had never crossed the line, always stopping before it was too late. Bellatrix Lestrange, on the other hand, had known no limit.

“Try to be discreet, and go back to Grimmauld Place. I'm sure Kreacher will be thrilled to see you, even if you're a ghost, and you'll have a lovely time insulting me and my blood traitor manners.”

Bella frowned, remembering how the house-elf had betrayed Sirius to Narcissa not even three weeks before. Not only Sirius, but a Black, and, worse, the Lord of the House of Black. No matter the circumstances, no matter the beliefs his master had displayed, Kreacher should never have done that.

“ _Kreacher betrayed you.”_

Sirius shrugged, not really interested.

“Dear Mother taught him that I was the worst kind of scum on Earth, and I recall a time when he 'accidentally' pushed me down the stairs. I can't say I'm surprised.”

“ _Still, you're Lord Black. He should never have... Wait, wasn't Regulus fond of him?”_

The wizard visibly tensed at the mention of his brother. This time, Bella was sure of it; no matter the younger Black's crimes, Sirius still cared about him. He had tried to bury these feelings, and Azkaban had helped him to hide them well, but the prison had also strengthened his feeling of guilt.

Regulus had stepped down from being a Death Eater, causing his death. What if Sirius had been able to save him, what if he had listened to him, what if he had had a chance to keep his younger brother out of Voldemort's grasp? What if all this had been possible, and he had done nothing?

Sirius wasn't looking at her when he responded.

“I used to joke that they'd marry each other.”

The ghost sniggered. Yes, she remembered that. Regulus would always blush in anger and embarassment, the house-elf would go on a tirade about how only the finest of the pureblooded ladies could do for the young master, and Sirius would try to guess which one of his cousins was the “finest” according to Kreacher. That, actually, was a bit frightening, for Bellatrix could now see that the oldest of the brothers hadn't been wrong. According to Walburga Black, the best were the Blacks, and herself had wed her cousin, Orion Black. If they hadn't been so lucky Walburga was sane enough to see that two generations of inbreeding wasn't a good idea at all, Bella realized, she could have been Sirius' wife, while Andromeda would have been Regulus'. Nevermind the age gap, they were cousins, for heaven's sake!

But back to the matter at hand...

“ _I could talk to him. After all... Regulus betrayed the D... Voldemort. So if Kreacher idolized your brother and acted as if the boy's beliefs were laws, he should at least change his mind about you being the filth he think you are.”_

Sirius' eyes darted back to his cousin, wide open.

Try to reason with the crazy house-elf. Why not, after all? If Bella had budged, why wouldn't the batty servant be able to do just the same?

“You... Do it. And ask him why he was almost approving after I used one of our darkest spells to stay alive, while taking your life at the same time. I promised myself I'd look into it, but being who you are, you're more likely to get anything out o...”

Footsteps were heard in the corridor, and Sirius gestured for his cousin to go back to the ceiling, silent again. He had planned to reveal his unusual haunting ghost during his trial, but he didn't want anyone else than Moody, and most likely Dumbledore, to know about her too soon. This kind of situation had to be handled carefully, if he didn't want it to backfire.

The door opened, and Eleanor was back with an old Healer and two grumpy looking Aurors. Sirius couldn't tell whether they were still wary of him, or they were unhappy because they weren't out there chasing Death Eaters. Probably both.

“Lord Black. I heard you wanted to leave.”

The wizard nodded, eyeing warily the Aurors behind the Healer. Whatever their feelings about him were, he didn't like to have watchdogs assigned to spy on him.

The Healer cast a glance behind him, wondering what made his patient so tense, and sighed when he saw that the Aurors had followed him inside. Sure, Sirius Black wasn't the least innocent man in the world, but did he really deserve such a treatment from the Ministry? And anyway, the man had already escaped from Azkaban and cheated death once for each feat. The Healer was positive that if he wanted, he could be out with or without the Ministry's agreement.

His attention went back to his patient. The best he could do was to ignore the Aurors, so he'd do exactly that.

“Very well. I'll be doing some diagnostic spells, and if they are negative to any trace of darkness and if you wish me to do so, we'll end this with a little experiment, for which we'll have to inflict a minor cut and see if you heal directly or not. Do you agree?”

Sirius grinned a mischievous smile, and the two Aurors fidgetted behind the Healer.

Really, that was their dangerous man with no sense of ethic and loyalty? If the Healer ever found this damn article from three years prior again, he'd make the writer eat it without salt nor pepper.

“That was what I had guessed. I'm all for it.”

The old man looked at the Rowle girl who had come to get him, remembering her words. Then he looked at the now serious again Black Lord.

“So I have heard. Let's begin, then.”

The Healer began with the arms and legs, then the guts, the brain, and finally the heart. None of the parts of the body or organs revealed any shred of darkness. The only thing left was the blood. A quick spell was enough to confirm what he had guessed.

“You're clean, Lord Black. Could you give me your hand?”

The young man, because no matter what, even if he was thirty-six years old, he looked like a twenty years old, presented his left hand to the Healer.

“Sirius, please. I'm not my grandfather.”

The Healer nodded once again. Being called mister or any other honorific always created some awkwardness the first times. And he doubted that Sirius had been respected even once since his jailing. After all, who would call Sirius Black “Mister”, or worse, “Lord”, when he was the most infamous inmate of the wizarding prison?

The old man used a thin blade to cut the skin on the back of his patient's hand, an one inch cut, just enough to see and not to cause discomfort. Red, hot blood tainted the scalpel, but contrary to before, it held no trace of the dark threads that had invaded the man's blood for days. A drop of blood created a scarlet path while rolling down the curves of the hand, and other drops followed, first fast enough, then more scarcely. They waited, and when it was obvious the wound wouldn't just heal by itself before hours, the Healer saw his patient sigh in relief.

The old man quickly cleansed the little wound and badaged the hand. Once this was done, he took a step back, observing his soon-to-be-ex-patient. It would be long before he got another one as interesting as Sirius Black.

The wizard was thin, but he wasn't meager anymore. The healer wasn't stupid, he had already seen people that had just gotten out of Azkaban, and most of them, those who had spent more than a year in this hell on Earth, could only be described as being various degrees of skin upon bones. Sirius Black, when he had accomplished the feat of escaping alone from the worst prison ever after twelve years, had certainly been a walking skeleton dressed in a suit of human skin. Black's temples were a bit hollow, and he could have used a bit more chubbiness in his cheeks, but from the pictures of the other family members, it wasn't so surprising.

The dark circles under the eyes the young Lord had been presenting when he had first been transported to the hospital hadn't completely disappeared, but were less visible than before. The Healer suspected that the man would always look like he hadn't slept for the night.

Finally, the look of absolute dread had disappeared from the wizard's eyes. But given that the photograph the Healer was referring to had been taken in Azkaban, he guessed that had more to do with the man's escape than with his time in St. Mungo's.

Still, when the Healer compared the latest pictures from the _Daily Prophet_ and the man sitting in this hospital bed, he couldn't not be proud of his work.

Now, Sirius Black looked like a human being.

Though the Healer was well aware, thanks to the diagnostic spells he had been running for almost three weeks now, that the Black Lord wasn't exactly human anymore. Yes, his body and mind were human. But there was a “but”. He hadn't been born in this body, and this body hadn't been created in a woman's womb. It was a perfect copy of the man's old body, but it wasn't exactly human at the same time.

Sirius Black was human, and yet he wasn't.

Truly, the Healer would miss such an intriguing patient.

“Well then, Sirius, I think you can leave us now. Try to enjoy your new liberty as much as you can.”

And as he finished that sentence, the Healer glared at the two Aurors.

“Thank you, Healer...?”

The old man smiled, always happy when one of his patients walked out of St. Mungo's in good health. As one who had worked for most of his career in the dark spells aftermath ward, he knew very well it wasn't a given outcome.

“Healer Irving.”

He couldn't have sounded more like the half-blood he was.

Sirius smiled even more as he gave him his thanks once again, with the old man's name this time. It couldn't have been a more genuine smile.

The Healer was about to leave to do the paperwork necessary for the Black Lord to be allowed to leave, but he suddenly remembered the first time the wizard had been awake, and his dark magic relapse. He remembered this day quite well, for it had been a miracle day in another ward of the fourth floor of St. Mungo's.

Squinting his eyes, he looked at Sirius Black with curiosity.

“Sirius... I believe you used to be one of the Longbottoms' friends. You'll surely be happy to hear that their state has suddenly improved. The Healers from the Janus Thickey ward are at a loss, but they record a time and state of consciousness more and more consequent each day that passes.”

And as if to confirm his suspicions, the young Lord's gaze avoided his own, travelling through the room rather than looking at any of the people present. Of course, the Aurors were sending glances at each other, wondering what the hell that was about, but the Rowle girl looked taken aback at the news. Apparently the Healer wasn't the only one who had picked up on the hints.

If Black wasn't to thank for the new state of the Longbottom couple, the old man was a yellow giant squid.

“I'll come back as soon as the paperwork is done, and you'll be free to leave.”

And with these words, the old Healer left the room.

Sirius sighed, relieved that nothing more had been said. As long as Frank and Alice weren't completely back, he couldn't afford to say a word to anyone.

Then he glanced at the two Aurors, still standing like idiots in the room, and rolled his eyes. He could only hope that the three others Scrimgeour wanted in his “escort” wouldn't be so dumb. Or maybe he should hope that they'd be this dumb, for he didn't want them to report his trial strategy before the big day. He wasn't sure.

And why the hell did Scrimgeour want five Aurors to waste time on him when there were bloodthirsty Death Eaters on the loose in the country?

Forget it, he knew the answer already. Not that he liked it. But he knew already, and couldn't do anything to put an end to this idiocy.

So he led his attention back to Eleanor Rowle, still sitting awkwardly next to him. A bit of compassion made his way to his emotional center, and he decided to give her a reason to leave.

“Miss Rowle?”

“Yes?”

He had to give it to her, the witch wasn't easily startled.

“Could you please leave? I'd like to change into proper clothing, and I wouldn't want to...”

He didn't finish his sentence, as the young woman had completely understood what he meant by that, and left with a courteous goodbye. Somehow, he surprised himself thinking it would be great if she were to came by and see him during the next days.

As soon as she was gone, he stood up from the bed and walked to the dresser where Remus had put the clothes he had brought. There, he looked for a while, surprised to see that his best friend had handpicked the clothes so that he'd look like a proper pureblooded Lord of a Noble and Most Ancient House when leaving the hospital. Sirius had expected Moony to be a bit more vicious and search for the most embarassing robes he could find. But when he thought that he had a trial to be ready for in five days, he guessed his friend had thought it ill-advised to build him a bad image.

Sirius selected a black robe with silver ornaments, wondering how the hell such refined clothing had ended up in his wardrobe, chose a grey pair of pants, and a shirt of the same color.

Then he glared at the Aurors who wouldn't let him dress alone, as if he was going to turn his clothes into weapons or something.

Not ten minutes later, the Healer Irving was back, and Sirius signed the sheet of paper allowing him to get the hell out of the white room he had been confined in for more than two weeks. Nevermind that he had been unconscious most of it. The wizard thanked the old man once more, and hurried as elegantly as he could to the entrance of St. Mungo's. No one was allowed to apparate in the hospital, except the Healers who had a special item in order to be here quickly if someone needed urgent treatment. Still, they had to report and explain any use of it, and the item could be used only once.

The two Aurors still on his heels, Sirius Black startled a dozen of patients and visitors when he got out of the elevator and walked into the entrance hall. Most of the people who saw him took a step back and started whispering with the person next to them. He ignored them, waved at a child who was pointing the finger and felt a guilty enjoyment when the kid went to hide behind his mother.

Soon, the three wizards were out of the hospital, and Sirius turned to the two Aurors who had to tail him. They didn't seem much more happy than he was with the order, and he mused that if he were to leave them behind it'd be much more interesting. But it would also put the Magical Law Enforcement people on edges, and it wouldn't be good for him.

“Listen here, you two. You're stuck with me, and I've nothing to hide, but I won't comply with stupid rules to 'keep me safe until my trial'. So I'm going to side-along apparate both of you to our destination, and I don't want to hear any complain. After all, I could simply ditch you here and you'd be in deep shit with Scrimgeour.”

Without waiting for their answers, Sirius grabbed their arms and they weren't there anymore.

Many miles away from London, three human forms popped out of nowhere between the huge trees of a forest. Sirius, of course, knew where they were, but the two Aurors were wary of their surroundings.

“Where the hell did you take us, Black?!”

The young Lord glanced at the one who had spat his name as if it was an insult, and remembered something Tonks had told him after Fudge's attempt to arrest Dumbledore.

“Dawlish, isn't it? My cousin has warned me that you are a bit thick.”

Then he turned to the other one, ignoring the irate air on the Auror's face.

“As for your colleague's question, we're in Essex, not far away from a friend's house. He's currently safekeeping my wand, so I thought it better to come by before doing anything else. By the way, what's your name?”

The Auror cast a glance at Dawlish, but decided it wasn't worth the hassle to try and calm his colleague. As Black had said, Dawlish might have been academically clever, and good enough a fighter to become an Auror, but when it came to his temper and his prejudices, the wizard could be thick.

“Julius Moody, Lord Black.”

Sirius arched an eyebrow. So that was Mad-Eye's young cousin. A bit too “Ministric”, Alastor had said, and too young to see when his bosses were wrong. Well, hopefully he'd grow out of it.

“Moody, eh? I guess it runs in the family. Anyway, put a tracking spell on me, just in case. I wouldn't want one of you to accuse me of trying to escape the Ministry's eyes.”

“You know Alastor?”

“The spell, youngster. And yes, I do know Mad-Eye. Everyone seems to have forgotten, but I was in the Auror training program when... Well, you know. Mad-Eye is one hell of an instructor.”

Julius did the tracking spell, while observing Black with curiosity.

The man was right and wrong at the same time. It wasn't that everybody had forgotten about his days as an apprentice Auror, it was that nobody wanted to talk about it. When Julius had asked about the Death Eater that had almost been an Auror and how no one had suspected a thing, not even Alastor with his “constant vigilance”, the people at the Auror Office had seemed to become deaf in less time than it took to say “Black”.

No one had ever suspected a thing... and today it was suggested that maybe it was because there had been nothing to be suspicious of.

Sirius Black. Second heir to the House of Black after his father Orion Black. Gifted in dark magic, but reluctantly using it. Known for his eventful years at Hogwarts, a cruel hatred towards Slytherin, and a habit to ignore the rules. Reported uses of the Dark Arts: seven times, on Death Eaters, to defend the lives of a muggle-born's family. Ignored by most of his family. Had ran away from home to live with the Potters at sixteen years old. A Death Eater brother, who had eventually betrayed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and had lost his life in the process. A cousin amongst the highest ranking Death Eaters. Member of the Order of the Phoenix. Known as the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Accused of the betrayal of the Potters, and the murder of Peter Pettigrew and twelve muggles.

Here was what had been held against him at the end of 1981. Hearsay, facts, but no investigation, no trial. Nothing. Just another Black in Azkaban.

No one had been willing to remember the years he had spent distinguishing himself from his family, to think about the choices he had made. Because either he had fooled everyone since the tender age of eleven, a Black could definitely be twisted enough to do that, nevermind the Sorting Hat, since, you know, you can be brave and still be a bastard, or he had suddenly decided to deny everything he had stood for all those years and thought it'd be fun to go around betraying people and killing and torturing muggles and muggle-borns.

If a Death Eater had ever earned himself the right to a trial, it would have been Sirius Black. But no, his apparent change of heart was even worse because he had been such a nice guy before.

Julius wondered, as they walked in the forest, why no one had stood for the wizard. Why no one had doubted the accusations.

Maybe those who had, for lack of a better explanation to his actions, and because all the others were so vehemently blaming the wizard, had finally accepted his supposed guilt. Maybe they had tried hard enough to hate him, because if they hadn't, the crowd's wrath would have fallen upon them too.

Maybe the man that Black wanted to see now, the man that lived in this forest, was one of those persons, who had made their hearts silent for years because they couldn't find another explanation than the one publicly acknowledged.

That Sirius Black had been guilty.

Because he couldn't have been anything else.

They finally arrived at a small and rundown house who reeked of poverty. Black asked the two Aurors to stay back and walked to the door, that suddenly opened even before he knocked on it.

A man with ragged clothes and bags under his eyes, scars across his face, and a sick complexion was standing there, looking wary and unsure of what to expect. In seconds his facial and body expressions changed, and he was hugging Black with all his strength. Given the man's lack of muscular mass, Julius wouldn't have guessed he was so strong if the young Lord hadn't let out a shriek of pain.

“Moony, please, you're on the way to break my ribs. I suffered enough pain lately without you adding to it.”

“Moony” let go of Black and the wincing wizard gave the two Aurors a look, permitting them to come closer. The sick man tensed again, and turned to his friend.

“What are they here for, Padfoot?”

Julius guessed “Padfoot” was the Black Lord, and he guessed right, as the man winced and answered “Moony”'s question without even looking at the Aurors. Instead, he was looking at the rundown house with a disapproving look on his face.

“Scrimgeour's orders. They're to stick with me like a bubble gum would stick to my shoes. Just ignore them, and everything will be okay. Say, your house hasn't improved since last summer.”

Dawlish seemed more attentive than ever at the moment he understood that Black had been staying with the sick looking man at some point while he was wanted by the Ministry. Sure enough, if the young Lord weren't to leave his trial a free man, “Moony” would have to deal with the older Auror's accusations, Julius thought.

The man frowned at his friend's lack of caution, but said nothing and observed his house with a critical eye.

“Well, you know, I was a tad busy trying to blend in with Greyback's werewolves. Being a spy for Dumbledore in the underworld didn't exactly leave me any time to find a job.”

Julius saw his colleague tense as the wizard understood that the man with ragged clothes was actually a werewolf who, as many others, couldn't afford the luxury of a proper wardrobe.

Actually, if the young Auror had a good memory... He had already seen this particular werewolf. Not long ago... And jackpot! It was the man who had talked for Black three weeks before, in the Atrium. It was...

Merlin's beard, Remus Lupin!

Julius' jaw fell wide open as the realization struck home.

Remus freaking Lupin, the werewolf who had been every Hogwarts student's favorite Defense against the Dark Arts professor in years two years prior. The wizard bitten by Fenrir Greyback in his youth, but who had somehow been allowed by Dumbledore to have a proper education at Hogwarts. The one werewolf who countered any prejudice against his kind all on his own.

And apparently a member of the Order of the Phoenix, since he was spying on the werewolves for Dumbledore.

Remus looked at his friend, making sure he was really alright and that he hadn't fled from St. Mungo's in a temper tantrum. Once he was satisfied, he turned his attention back to the two Aurors, and was surprised to see that the youngest one was gobsmacked. The fact that Dawlish was nearly growling at him left the werewolf unfazed. He had heard of the wizard from Tonks, Kingsley and Mad-Eye, and anyway he was used to be looked at with animosity.

“Sirius, you're sure you didn't mess up with the side-along apparition?”

The Black Lord turned back to his two unwanted shadows, and saw the strange show they were giving. He barked a laugh and patted his friend on the shoulder.

“Don't worry, I didn't leave young Moody's brain behind, if that's what you're wondering about. As for Dawlish, I could have, but since he hadn't one to begin with, there wasn't a risk.”

Remus' eyes darted to the young Auror, once again ignoring Dawlish's anger, and he assessed him with a gaze.

“Moody? He's Alastor's cousin, right?”

Great, Julius thought. This one too knew his father's cousin. At least, he guessed that put them above any kind of suspicions.

“Yeah. Anyway, I believe you have my wand with you?”

 

 


	7. Black Manor was alive once again

Remus disappeared in his house for a short time, and came back with his friend's wand.

“Here. Happy?”

Sirius arched an eyebrow at his best friend's sarcastic tone as he entered the rundown house.

“What is it, Moony? Afraid that I came only for my wand?”

The werewolf shrugged, but the wizard wouldn't buy it. Remus had become a master at hiding his true feelings, and he could do the whole innocence thing as well as he could do the guilt thing. Many times, when they were at Hogwarts, James and Sirius had been trying to apologize for hours about something that had obviously made the werewolf angry... only to discover that he hadn't minded at all and had been taking the mickey out of them.

So Sirius sat on a chair in the kitchen and filliped a bread crumb at Remus' head.

The werewolf rolled his eyes and sat at the other side of the table, still wary of the two Aurors standing next to the door of the kitchen.

“You're a kid, Sirius. I can't believe you're your family's Lord. The House of Black will certainly break down under your guidance. And no, I don't think you like your wand better than you like me, but last time I had Aurors in my house they were accusing me of working for a snake-faced mass murderer.”

Sirius cast a glance at Dawlish and Julius Moody and frowned.

“When was that exactly?”

“Last week.”

“Oh.”

Before the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, the Ministry had been doing everything except acknowledging Voldemort's return, so it could only have happened after that. Sirius sighed. Of course, the Ministry had thought it clever to just go around accusing werewolves.

“You see, I think we should begin a club, something like 'the Wrongly Accused Society'... Hell, we can even have Dumbledore with us, after the events from this spring!”

Remus snorted, slightly amused, but his eyes were still on the Aurors. Moody Jr didn't seem to be much of a threat, more awestruck than anything else, but he didn't like Dawlish's attitude. The wizard was staring at him, eyes squinted and tight lipped, as if he suspected the werewolf to be planning something evil.

“Anything else you want to tell me before going?”

Or is there something you don't want them to hear? Julius could very well hear the unspoken question, and for once, he didn't think it was suspicious. Usually, when someone had something to hide from the Aurors, it was something illegal. But these two men had suffered because of the Ministry too many times. It wasn't a surprise that they wouldn't trust just anyone working for it.

Black stayed silent a moment, staring at the ceiling, and Julius mused that he was certainly wondering what he could tell his friend and what he couldn't say in front of two Aurors.

Eventually the wizard sighed and stood up.

“Don't worry about my trial, mate. I know what I am doing.”

“Tonks says you won't take a lawyer?”

Julius thought that was strange. For a case such as the young Lord's, the defense would need someone who knew what they were talking about. Sirius Black had been known to be reckless and disobedient as a young man, not exactly the best man to defend himself in a trial.

Black winced before answering the question.

“We've already talked about that. You know how they are, Remus. There are those who would defend even someone they think to be guilty, there are the ones who would never defend me because I'm a Black, there are those who would cut a deal, and there are the ones who would twist my words and my story to make me look like an innocent victim unable to hurt a fly. We know it's not the case, and if I have to protect someone from Death Eaters, we both know I can be rather indelicate. I don't want people saying afterward that my trial was made of lies. And there are arguments that I plan to use that may not... please a lawyer.”

Remus observed his best friend as he was talking, and guessed that once again, Sirius was right. A lawyer could do for any innocent man... but not for a Black. And even if the wizard hadn't told him what arguments exactly he was thinking of using, the werewolf knew his friend well enough. No sane lawyer trying to make their client look as innocent as possible would use the kind of arguments that Sirius was likely to put forward.

“Do what you want, then. But you'd better be free at the end of this freaking trial.”

A smirk morphed on Sirius' lips, but he said nothing. Making a joke about escaping Azkaban a second time was certainly not the thing to do with two Aurors in the room. Even less when he was planning to do just that if the trial was to go wrong. Which was unlikely anyway.

Then the wizard remembered his ghostly cousin, and his optimism went down a notch. Explaining Bella wasn't going to be easy, and many would take the opportunity to say that yes, maybe he wasn't evil before, but he definitely was now, or else Bellatrix Lestrange's ghost wouldn't be obeying him.

Sirius looked around, saw the state of the house, saw the state of his friend, his ragged clothes, his sick complexion, and his heart ached. Remus was tired. And Bella was right.

“Listen, Moony...”

The werewolf grew suspicious the second his nickname was used with such a serious tone. Padfoot, Moony, Prongs, and Wormtail too, the treacherous, obnoxious little rat, were nicknames they had used as often as their first names when they had been happy. Padfoot, Moony, Prongs and Wormtail weren't names for a serious talk.

Unless they were going to talk about their animagus forms or of his werewolf form.

Remus noticed the sidelong glance Sirius cast at his two unwanted shadows, and this time he was certain there were some things better left unsaid.

“Sirius...”

“No, listen. I've been given a piece of advice not long ago, and I'm pretty certain you won't listen to me if I tell you who gave it to me, but I want you to listen.”

The werewolf gave his friend a suspicious look, but decided he would listen.

Sirius took a deep breath, trying not to tone down. He didn't want Moody Jr or Dawlish to think he had something to hide. But what could he do? Bellatrix herself had given him this piece of advice. Not just anyone. Bellatrix Lestrange, bloody Death Eater and bloody insane. But Remus needed to hear this. He needed to change, because the werewolf was eating him up. And because Bellatrix Black wasn't insane and was becoming more decent by the minute.

“You need to stop fighting it, Moony. You're a werewolf, no matter how much you try to deny it. You're a wizard, and a werewolf. You're not a monster. Just a werewolf. You're dangerous three nights in a month, and you can fight that. But you don't have to fight against yourself when you're not dangerous, well, not dangerous because you are a werewolf, though you can still be dangerous as a wizard.”

Remus frowned.

“What are you trying to say exactly, Sirius?”

Dawlish and Julius were wondering exactly the same thing.

Dawlish, because he was an arse and that couldn't be changed. For him, “werewolf” was equal to “monster”. According to him, Black was definitey trying to corrupt his friend to the dark side, if the monster wasn't already part of it. But Dawlish was an arse and an idiot, so he didn't matter.

Julius, because he simply didn't understand what the young Lord was trying to say.

Sirius looked at each person in the room and promised himself that one day, he'd hex Dawlish blue with pink flowers if the Auror continued to be so easily readable and completely insufferable.

Then his gaze went back, once again, to his best friend.

“Remus, you say everything is alright, and you don't complain to anyone. But I have known you since we were eleven. You hate yourself for something you can't do anything about. You're a werewolf, I'm a Black. We can't do the slightest thing about those two facts. So accept it, for once. Don't be depressed, for once. And it'll be easier to live with it.”

He hesitated a second, and came close to his friend. The last thing he wanted to say, no, the last thing he had to say, because he definitely didn't want to say it, wasn't something he wanted the Aurors to hear. No matter how suspicious it would seem.

Remus cast a quick look to the two Aurors, and listened to the soft whisper of his friend's voice.

“Greyback doesn't look sick.”

The werewolf winced and took a step back. Sirius looked almost contrite that he had had to say that, so Remus decided he wouldn't respond that the monster was a monster, and he certainly didn't want to be compared to him.

Sirius bid him goodbye, and Remus looked at his friend as he apparated away with his two human shadows. Somewhere in his heart, he knew the wizard hadn't been totally wrong.

Dawlish was readying himself to be insufferable and complain about Black's behavior, knowing very well that opening his mouth while apparating was an efficient way to throw up his breakfast once arrived. But as soon as the unpleasant black-hole-feeling of side-along apparition dissipated, the scenery of Hogsmeade surprised him. What the hell was Black doing here?

Some bystanders gasped when they recognized the man who had just apparated in the middle of the village. The after effects of being Sirius Black, the ex-convict mused.

Julius blinked, took in the surroundings, and turned to face the young Black Lord.

“Why are we here?”

Black didn't answer at first, apparently searching for something or someone. Once he spotted them, he walked to the Three Broomsticks and towards a shabby-looking wizard.

“Dung!”

The wizard jumped on his feet, looking around as if he had heard the sound of death itself coming for him, and only half-calmed down when he recognized Sirius. The Black Lord thought that the man looked a bit guilty when he avoided his eyes, but dismissed it. After all, if Mundungus had stolen something, it would only be old news. Everyone knew the man to be a thief.

“Sirius, what can I d... do for you?”

No one missed the look on the short wizard's face as he glanced at the two Aurors behind Sirius. No one said anything, because everyone knew Mundungus Fletcher to be having illicit dealings here and there, and that it wasn't the Auror Office's job to take care of him. He was, after all, only a small time criminal, and the Aurors were a bit busy lately.

“I need to talk to Dumbledore. About my home. Could you get him for me?”

Mundungus' eyes did a very interesting show, wide open, squinted, shifty, scared. None of the members of the Order could say “12, Grimmauld Place”, since it was under a Fidelius, but the thief was perfectly aware of what Sirius meant by “my home”.

“Dumbledore. Right. I'll get him. Just wait.”

And he tried to walk, no, run away as fast and as unsuspiciously as he could.

But Sirius extended his arm just in time, and his hand grabbed the back of the short man's collar. As Mundungus fell backwards, his clothes tinkled in a metalic sound.

Julius and Dawlish were already wand in hand, not sure of what was going on, but pretty sure that they couldn't let the wizard under their watch murder or harm anyone without reacting.

Julius was a bit surprised, to say the truth. He hadn't thought that Black would try something like that, if he was innocent. And up till this moment, the young Lord had seemed every little bit innocent. So either the young Auror had a real problem with his observation skills and Dawlish had been right all along, or there was something he was missing.

Black helped Mundungus Fletcher to get back on his feet.

The short wizard looked scared as hell.

“Dung... Next time you take something out of my house, ask first. I don't really care for the family heirlooms, and you know that. But there are some things that'd better be destroyed than sold around to dubious persons.”

Mundungus was definitely looking everywhere but at Sirius.

“No idea of what you're talking about.”

The young Lord arched an eyebrow as the other was mumbling something about innocence and false accusations, and before anyone could do anything, he cast a spell on the thief. Three metal boxes fell out of Fletcher's pants pockets, alongside the thief's pants.

Sirius bent over to pick the boxes, not paying any attention to the short wizard in underpants who was swearing out loud, or to the passersby who were watching with interest. The Blacks arms were incised on the silver boxes. He opened them, and closed them shut as soon as he saw what was inside. Then he turned to Mundungus, once again ignoring the Aurors even if the sight of the gold clips in the second box had switched something in Dawlish's mind. Julius was a bit worried about that, actually. Lately, his senior Auror had become more and more attracted to the financial side of the job... and of other things.

Sirius kneeled down and looked intently at the little man swearing on the ground. Immediately, Fletcher stopped his swearing and stayed still.

“You see, Dung, these boxes come from my home. I guess you were planning on selling them to the highest bidder, and I know I said that you could because I couldn't care less about my inheritance. The thing is, Dung, I more or less changed my mind. And those clips are cursed, so unless your buyers want to end up in St. Mungo's with half-munched fingers, which I doubt they want, you'd better ask before you take.”

The thief nodded dumbly. Then he put his pants back on and ran to Hogwarts.

Sirius sighed.

It was true that he wanted nothing to do with the Dark-Arts-cursed / hexed / jinxed artifacts of the Blacks, but he had recently realised that maybe, some of them could be useful one of these days. After all, what was it to him if a Death Eater was strangled to death by one of his mother's nightgowns, however such a thing might happen?

By the way, why had his mother felt the need to curse her nightgowns?

Two minutes later, Fletcher was back, panting as if he had run a marathon. He said Dumbledore would meet Sirius at the Hog's head and ran away.

Sirius sighed again, thinking about how much bad this encouter would do to his reputation, when he was to be tried only five days from now. But with Mundungus, one had to be stern, or the thief would never learn. And the last thing Sirius needed right now, was to explain why stolen goods marked with the Blacks armorial bearing had tried to murder someone.

So he simply walked to the Hog's head, his three shadows, the actual one and the two Aurors, following him dutifully. It was nearing noon.

When he pushed the door of the inn, two elderly men were speaking quietly at the bar counter. No one could have missed the likeness in their features, but the younger one, who'se hair was grayer while his brother's was whiter, looked less chearful than the older one.

Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore.

Sirius noticed that Dawlish shifted on his feet, obviously uncomfortable. The young Lord smirked. It served the douchebag just right.

The older of the two brothers waved at the young wizard, while Aberforth was going back behind his counter, as grumpy-looking as ever. Sirius moved to the Hogwarts' headmaster, and sat down on a bar stool. Julius and Dawlish stayed behind, at a respectful distance. And what, Albus Dumbledore was more than able to take down anyone who might get an idea about Sirius Black, wasn't he? Or to take down Sirius Black himself, if as Dawlish thought, the young Lord was the problem here.

“Sirius. I must say I'm happy to see you in good health after last month's events.”

Feeling suddenly better, almost at home, as he heard the elderly man's voice, Sirius relaxed and asked Aberforth if he had anything worth eating. The owner of the inn nodded and soon came back with what looked like stuffed and / or roasted meat, but neither Sirius nor Albus would have bet on the exact animal.

“Truthfully I wasn't sure either that I'd make it out alive. That spell was...”

Sirius winced as he searched his pockets for money. He knew he had to have some somewhere in his coat, Remus had told him so, but what if he actually hadn't? No, alright, just there. He searched for a galleon and seven sickles, and put them on the counter.

“... risky, if I say so myself. But I thought I still had to protect my godson, and well, even if I'm ready to die fighting, I'm not exactly eager to either.”

He took a mouthfull of meat with caution, and was surprised it wasn't as awful as he had thought it'd be. Maybe Aberforth had actually made some progress since his imprisonment.

Albus Dumbledore nodded, looking thoughtful, and let the young wizard eat half of his meal before he talked again.

“I heard you wanted to talk about your house?”

The elderly wizard had to be cautious, as he was the Secret Keeper, and unlike the others, the adress could slip throught his lips without the charm interfering.

“Right. I need to get back home to... arrange things for my trial, but I'm supposed to be under their constant watch...”

Sirius made a vague gesture behind him, not bothering to look at the two Aurors. The old wizard looked at them for a second, frowning, and Julius felt like he was back in school, while Dawlish was definitely trying to disappear, still thinking about his blatant defeat in spring.

“Hum. One question, though, Sirius: do you mind if we keep your house as our headquarters?”

“Not really. Kreacher won't be a problem anymore, I've got my personal ghost to talk to him. And if he stays a problem regardless... I can deal with him. After all, I can order him around.”

Albus Dumbledore observed the young man sitting next to him.

Sirius Black had always been brilliant, but too carefree, not involved enough, while at Hogwarts. The only thing he had really put his heart into during his studies had been becoming an animagus for his friend Remus Lupin. That, the headmaster had never been aware of it until two years ago, and that was saying something.

Sirius Black hadn't been in Slytherin for one reason only: he had no ambition whatsoever. For him, life could go on, if he was happy, if he had his friends with him, it'd be perfect. But to attain this happiness, the young wizard could do about anything. If he cared, he could be sly and cunning as a Slytherin, ready to do anything.

And as he had been way braver than anything else, the Sorting Hat had finally put him in Gryffindor. But the boy could have been in Slytherin, as he could have been in Hufflepuff. Only Ravenclaw was out of the question, though he was definitely clever. Sirius wasn't focused on his studies enough to be in Ravenclaw.

Or at least that was what the headmaster had understood about the boy. Because no matter what the parents were saying, Albus Dumbledore wasn't one to ask the Sorting Hat what he had to say about a student after his Sorting. Those kind of things were private, and no Hogwarts' headmaster had ever pryied on their students this way. Anyway, if they had, the Sorting Hat would have told them to search for a new job.

“If that's the case, I'd advise you to go to Black Manor instead of your childhood home. That way we won't have to extend the Fidelius to any Auror.”

Sirius nodded slowly, until what the old man was proposing went through his brain. His head turned to the older wizard so quickly Julius could have sworn he had just heard a sickening crack.

“Wait a minute, Black Manor can only be entered with the permission of the Lord of the House and there's no way...”

The headmaster arched both eyebrows, waiting for the sentence to be finished. Sirius, confused, stared blankly in the air between him and his now empty plate. After a long silence, he looked up, face still blank, and talked.

“And there's no way I'll have the Lord's permission, since I am the Lord of the House of Black. Right. I don't need the permission, since I am the one who gives it.”

The fact that he wasn't only Lord Black but also had all the rights and responsabities coming with the title seemed to finally enter his mind.

Sirius Black was the Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He was the Lord, and everything was his, Narcissa's personal vault excepted, and soon enough the Tonks' personal vaults too. 12, Grimmauld Place, which was the London house of the family, but also various estates in and out of the country, and the most important place, Black Manor, all this was his.

He coughed, but without a physical need. Still, he felt as if his throat was too tight, as if the air couldn't pass through.

He was the Black Lord.

Sirius gulped. Anything that could help him digest the information.

Or maybe not. It was still just this disturbing in his mind...

Argh, anyway!

He stood up, readying himsef to leave.

“Well, then, I guess it's a good bye.”

Albus Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. Many hoped that yes, it would only be a goodbye. To send Sirius Black back to Azkaban would be a bit sad, very unfair, and a great loss in the war against Voldemort.

“I believe you have much to see to before your trial. Be assured that I will attend.”

Sirius frowned. Dumbledore had been reinstated as the Chief Wizard of the Wizenmagot, so obviously he was supposed to be here. Unless the old man had decided it'd look better for his ex-student if the executive figure was indeed impartial. That is, given the Ministry could manage to find a witch or a wizard who'd be willing to be impartial at Sirius Black's trial. Tough luck with that.

At least, the wizard thought, if Dumbledore backed down as Chief Wizard, and asked for someone else, if the “someone else” was proved to be prejudiced against the defendant, if the defendant walked out free nonetheless... Sirius would be twice proved innocent, or as good as.

So Sirius nodded thoughtfully and left the Hog's head.

Julius and Dawlish followed him in silence. Again. Sirius wasn't sure he liked to be watched like that. No, actually, he was quite sure he didn't like it at all. But there was improvement. Before, they hadn't been silent, and now, they were. Not that he minded when it was Julius talking. But he had come to the conclusion that he absolutely loathed Dawlish. And not only because the Auror most likely thought him to be guilty.

He stopped in the middle of the road and turned to the Aurors to explain, once again, where he was going to apparate them. He certaintly didn't want Dawlish to find anything to complain about.

“'Not sure you heard, but we're headed to Black Manor. If I was you, I'd wait for me to invit you in. Our family wards can be rather... aggressive.”

A loud crack was heard, and there was no one on the road anymore.

Julius looked around.

They were in the middle of nowhere, no town, no house could be seen, only a large stone road coming from the East and ending at sinister looking gates with the Black family crest on it. A long and high wall was obstructing the view on both side of the gates. The whole place looked grim and deserted and not welcoming at all. The younger of the Aurors shivered when he heard something that sounded a lot like the cry of a raven, or maybe a crow.

As ominous as a pure-bloods' place could get, surely.

The young Auror glanced at the Black Lord, who didn't seem eager to be here either.

“Why the Hell did I agree to come back here, remind me? Oh, yes, because I need a place to stay. Now, don't freak out, Sirius, the London house isn't much better, I guess. Here, at least, there isn't any beheaded house-elf on the walls, is there?”

Black himself didn't seem sure of what they were to come by in the manor, and that couldn't bode well. Julius shuddered; the Blacks weren't a happy bunch, that was for sure.

Sirius took a deep breath, and walked to the gates. Once closer, one could see the two parts of the gates weren't actually separate, more like melted together.

There was dust on the handles, and he had no key. But of course, since there was no key, it was to be expected. Same as Grimmauld Place, Black Manor had been left to itself since Arcturus Black's death. Sure, the place must have had its own house-elf, and as Sirius hadn't been dead, the magical contract linking the elves, Kreacher in London, Sterhn at the Manor, was still on. Two house-elves, for only one family, it was more than what many could brag for. The Blacks' wealth, once again. So, as Kreacher, Sterhn must have been keeping the place in order... But as Kreacher, maybe the elf had become mental at some point.

In his memories, Sterhn had always been better with him than Kreacher, and that surely had to do with the fact that Sirius' grandfather had had some affection for his grandson. Sure, not much, after all, he had never stepped in to defend the child, but that was a lot more than the affection Walburga had had for his son. Yes, Arcturus and Orion Black had cared for Sirius Black. Not much, but more than Walburga Black. Or maybe they had just been less crazy than she was.

Anyway, if the house-elf of Black Manor had never been much fun, and why would he be when he was called Sterhn?, he had been alright. He'd certainly be beyond happy to see his master back, and hopefully would be less of an hassle to deal with than Kreacher.

Sirius observed the black gates for a long time, still hesitating to unseal the property. He could still walk away, forget everything, his resolutions to take the family back in hand, everything...

Oh, well, he'd better get done with it.

The wizard let his fingers run on the Black armorial bearing, his fingerstips going over the ravens and the sword, then onto the motto. Soon he felt a slight pain and the crest turned red with his blood. He withdrew his hand and looked at his fingers, sliced at the tips. Then his eyes fell on the forms of the armorial bearing on the gates. His blood was slowly taking over the family motto. After a short while, the fused metal closing the gates together melted down and disappeared.

The gates to Black Manor were open, now that the Black Lord had come back to the estate.

Sirius pushed the gates open. The dust that had covered the gates and the high wall that made the place look so grim and, well, dusty, suddenly rose in the air, before vanishing in a flash of life.

Black Manor was alive once again.

The young Lord walked in and turned to the two Aurors behind him. Both looked rather uncomfortable. After all, he could shut them out if he wanted. For a second he played with the idea, then sighed as once again, doing what he wanted wasn't the best way for him to earn the trust of the Ministry officials.

“Aurors Moody and Dawlish, would you come in?”

The older of the two wizards winced, his name being put second, but Sirius ignored him. If Dawlish wanted to be respected, the least he could do was to be respectful too. And Sirius wasn't even talking about etiquette, simply about basic human behavior. “Good morning”, “How do you do?” and all the crap. Well, no, he had no reason nor desire to confabulate with Dawlish. But if the man could refrain from looking at him with all the disgust on Earth, it would certainly help his case.

Julius and his colleague walked in the Black domain, and were relieved not to be torn into pieces. As Sirius had said previously, the Blacks were famous for their wards, amongst other things.

Julius followed in silence and in awe as the young Lord walked down the stone driveway to the immense and rather distressing shadow of what must have been the manor, several hundreds of yards away.

Yes, the land had been half-abandonned since 1991, and the lawn certainly needed to be taken care of, but still. Old and majestuous trees bordered the driveway, and osiria and black baccara rose trees greeted the visitors, though right now only the osiria ones were blooming. There was a grand, large, huge oval-shaped pond between the three wizards and the manor, but they didn't need to walk around it, as the Aurors understood, bewildered when Black stepped on an almost invisible bridge made of some magical spider's silk.

At some point, Julius could have sworn he had seen something move in the corner of his eye, and he tried to reassure himself thinking of the peacocks in Malfoy Manor. Yeah, surely, that had to be that, the Blacks surely had some sorts of harmless animals living on their grounds. What was it again, a rumor about them having the rumored extinct hellhounds as hound dogs?

And then there was the manor.

Black Manor wasn't as grand as Malfoy Manor, but it was a whole different deal and a lot more overwhelming. Julius had been to Malfoy Manor once, when he had had to conduct a search on the behalf of the Ministry. There, the owners hadn't bothered to hide their wealth, they had literally put it on display almost everywhere the eyes could see. But the Blacks hadn't acted as such.

Black Manor was obviously older, and less showy. But the material were all priceless, elegant and showed perfectly that one doesn't need to brag about what he has for it to be obvious that he is definitely higher on the social ladder than his visitors. If the place was certainly less spacious than Malfoy Manor, it was still immense enough to take in the whole House of Black and as many guests. Black stone, black marble, black wood. And here and there, a spark of light, some silver point in the darkness of the place.

They arrived in front of a large double door made of dark wood. Above it, the Black family arms were set in stone, and the motto “Toujours Pur” was written on it in silver letters.

Sirius sniggered. Toujours Pur.

It could as well have been “Inbreeding is the best way to have deranged children”. A wonder Regulus and himself hadn't been more strange than that. But he guessed that his mother's and Bella's madness had something to do with the family motto. Oops, he meant with the inbreeding.

Once inside, Sirius called for Sterhn, hoping the house-elf was still around. He surely wasn't going to be the one to clean the house. Even less when the house was thrice the size of Grimmauld Place, and he still hadn't finished cleaning the London house.

A loud crack was heard. Julius jumped in surprise, having still not gotten over the fact that Black Manor could be called a lot of things, and many of them had to do with the adjectives dark, gloomy, black, sinister, obscure, stygian, and well, the fact that none of the lights were on wasn't helping at all. Dawlish looked about to black out, focused on not letting his anxiety show to the point that there was nothing more obvious. Sirius relaxed as soon as he met the eyes of the elf.

“Master Sirius Black is finally home. Master Arcturus Black would be pleased to know that his grandson has finally accepted the Lordship that was his from birthright. He would be delighted to know that the Master has finally walked out of Azkaban, the most dreadful prison on earth. But Master Arcturus is dead, and Sterhn has been left to take care of Black Manor. What can Sterhn do for the Master?”

Sirius gave the elf an almost genuine smile. Sterhn had always been rambling a lot about the pride of the House of Black, but contrary to Kreacher, he had included Sirius in this pride, and had kept the blood purity theme to the bare minimum.

“Have you taken good care of the manor, Sterhn?”

The elf looked offended at the inquiry.

“Of course, Master! Not a speck of dust came in the Manor.”

“Have you taken good care of yourself, Sterhn?”

“Sterhn did so that he'd be able to serve the Master to the best of his capacities.”

That was the best answer Sirius could expect from the house-elfe, dedicated to the House of Black and to its Lord over anyone else. So he went on asking if the standard procedures had been put into motion at the previous Lord's death, and yes, Sterhn answered that of course, the floo connection had been shut down, the wards raised to their fullest, and the Lord's room kept tidy for his return.

Sirius smiled at the thought that he'd certainly need to do something about the color choices if he was to live here, and dismissed the elf after asking him to let out the enchanted light orbs in the whole manor and to start a fire in the fireplace of the dining room, his study and his bedroom.

Then he turned to the Aurors.

“Check the tracking spell, then do whatever you wish to do. If possible, I'd like not to have you in the way. But be careful. My grandfather wasn't half as mad as my mother, but I can't say there isn't some nasty stuff here and there in the manor. I don't believe there is anything illegal but you never know with my family, and there are definitely bordeline dark and unauthorized objects around the house, and don't get me started on the jinxed, hexed, cursed things you might come by. If anything tries to murder you... Well, defend yourself to your fullest and start screaming.”

On that reassuring note, the young Lord left the two dumbfounded Aurors, pretty sure that, despite what he had just said, there were dark, illegal, unauthorized, highly dangerous and murderous artifacts in the manor. Only, they weren't in plain sight. Even if the members of the House of Black were all slightly insane, they weren't fools.

His feet led Sirius to the dining room, grand, immense, overwhelming, dark but surprisingly not gloomy now that the light orbs were illuminating the place, floating high in the middle of the room. From outside, though, the wizard was certain that it looked like some ghosts were roaming around behind the grand gothic-style windows. He changed the light color to a soft orange and walked to the furthest wall in the room.

There, he stood without doing anything for a minute or so, his mind entirely focused on the Black family tree that had been engraved in the wall and charmed to react to any change in the London tapestry, and if needed, to overrule it.

The names weren't burned off on the wall, obviously, but ruled out. There were so many of them, so many decent Blacks that had been repudiated because they were decent, that it was ridiculous. Of course, the House of Black wasn't so bad. But as soon as someone could prove the public wrong, the other family members made it clear that yes, those ones were decent, and so detestable, and so not part of the family anymore.

Sirius was surprised to see that his own name hadn't been ruled out as Alphard's and Andromeda's, but he guessed his grandfather had overruled his mother's decision, though he hadn't overruled it enough to make the tapestry mend itself. A decision of reason, he mused. His mother would have been insufferable if the previous Lord had so oppenly supported his grandson after she had disowned him.

But if she had disowned him as her child, if his father had let her do so, only the Lord could decide to cast a family member out. Sure, as far as Walburga had been concerned, Sirius wasn't her son anymore. But he was a Black nonetheless. He was the next heir after his father by blood, and Arcturus Black had never denied him this right.

Actually, Sirius suspected his grandfather to have been supportive of most of his ways. The old man wasn't a fool, and he wasn't blind and half-crazed like Walburga. He had seen the damages Voldemort was doing in the wizarding world, worst, in the pure-bloods society. Being a blood traitor, compared to the crimes of the Dark Lord towards those he claimed to fight for, was a joke.

Better Sirius Black as the next Black Lord than a Death Eater.

The young Lord took his wand in hand and put his still bloodied hand against the wall. The tip of his wand placed at the back of his hand, he closed his eyes for a while. When he opened them again, a flow of black and white magic pulsed through his wand into his hand, in his blood, in the dried blood that covered his fingertips, to the wall, to the family tree. The black stone of the wall seemed darker than ever, the silver and gold lines between the names shined brightly, and Sirius was the official Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

He withdrew his wand and hand, finally cleaned the blood on the latest, and stared at the silver ring on the ring finger of his righ hand. It had the Black armorial bearing on it.

Sirius looked back at the family tree and waved his wand. It was time to change the House of Black back to what it was meant to be.

A family.

Every single ruled out name was now unscathed.

Every single one of them. The blood traitors, the one who had married a blood traitor, the muggle lovers, the squibs. Every person who had borne the name of Black and shared their blood had the right to be here. No matter what they had done.

That included the worst of them, those who had never been cast out of the family, but who should have been. The ones who had killed, tortured, and caused misfortune during their whole lives. Whether Sirius liked it or not, they were his family. Even the ones whose wands had been beside his in the Department of Mysteries.

He then looked for the disowned branches of the family. Maybe some of them had had children who still bore the name of Black. But no, none of the marriages had lasted long enough in the male lines for their descendents to be part of the House of Black nowadays.

Sirius did a last thing before leaving the dining room. Looking at his brother's name, a whisper escaped his mouth.

“Regulus... You poor fool. Why didn't you listen to me?”

The surviving Blacks had been surprised when they had felt a short rush of magic. Narcissa's silver ring had glowed for a second. Andromeda and her husband had watched in surprise as two rings formed on their joined hands. Tonks had jumped in surprise and frightened the whole Auror Office when she had felt the silver touch of a ring.

And in a bed in a small but cosy house, a man woke up suddenly holding onto his silver ring. His eyes were filled with memories for the first time in years, and a tear rolled down his face.

“Sirius.”

 

 


	8. The good old muggle way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much Sirius in this chapter ( read: no sirius in this chapter, though it is serious ), but well...
> 
> By the way, I have no idea how the people work at Number 10, Downing Street, so I made up an excuse: the United Kingdom being under a rather incredible number of weird events, natural disasters, murders et caetera because of th Dark Bastard, the madness out there reached the Prime Minister's Office, and there is no rules anymore. Or at least, not for quite a bit of time.

Armand locked the door behind him, his black leather satchel hanging at his side, and sighed. It was late in the evening, but with everything happening in the country, he was sure to find Downing Street still filled with ministry employees. Himself, he knew who was to blame for the murders and catastrophes and odd events in general, and the fact that he couldn't tell anyone why the United Kingdom was almost falling apart was disturbing.

He left his apartment, his building, his street, and walked to the nearest subway station.

He had been supposed to go back to work only at the beginning of the next week, but the Prime Minister himself had asked for him and White to come back as soon as they could, and so he had received a distressed call from a co-worker only minutes before. He knew that White had returned hours only after his own return, and that they were likely to arrive at the same time.

Armand watched pensively the underground scenery blurring as the tube train went on and on in the darkness. Soon, he'd be at Westminster, and after that he'd have to walk to 10, Downing Street, as he did every morning.

But this time, it wasn't the morning, not at all, and he had no idea why the Prime Minister would want to see him of all people. Sure, he knew that the Prime Minister was aware of the existence of the magical world, but even if Scrimgeour, who was the new Minister for Magic, had already informed him that the natural disasters weren't exactly natural and that the murder victims were witches and wizards, there was no way for the Prime Minister to know who Armand was.

Armand, and Alexander White, had been urgently called to come back ahead of schedule. Either the Prime Minister had understood the link between magic and the incidents, or he had been helped to do so, but no matter what, it had to be about the investigations the two employees had been sent on in the past month.

The tube train stopped, and Armand walked out, into the Westminster Underground station.

Now, the problem that Armand knew to be bound to arise, was his family name. As soon as he'd meet the secretary to the Prime Minister / Auror-in-disguise, there would be an uproar. After that, it could as well be a one way ticket to the Auror Office. As if he could do anything to anyone, being a squib. Though, he mused, he could murder, assassinate, poison the Prime Minister the good old muggle way. But really, working for a pure-blood supremacist when you were a squib was stupid. Not that logic could stop the Aurors from considering him a suspect.

Armand winced, dejected that even without magical powers, his family name was giving him a hard time. Yes, he was a pure-blood. But the thing was, he wasn't a wizard. And that mattered more than anything else.

As he walked up the street, a dementor passed by him, and the man had to force himself not to react to the monster's presence. Muggles couldn't see dementors, though they were aware of their depressing presence. And although it was faint, Armand had hope that maybe, he wouldn't be found out and lose his job in the process. It was a fool's hope, he knew that. Kingsley Shacklebolt would jump wand in hand the very moment he'd see his family name. But he was pretending to be a muggle, he had spent too much effort to be where he now stood, and he wouldn't let any opportunity to keep the position he had earned slip by. So he wasn't going to walk away.

Armand walked in 10, Downing Street, thinking about everything but his job. He passed the security, politely greeting the guards, the employees, his superiors, and people he had never seen before or hadn't bothered to remember. He stopped by his computer, looked around, and noticed that indeed, for a friday evening, there was way much more people than what was usual.

Armand was preparing himself to go and see the Prime Minister, as he had been asked to, when a haughty Alexander White dropped his bag at the computer beside his.

The two colleagues looked at each other with contained hatred, searching the other's features for a sign of defeat or victory. Everyone in this part of the Prime Minister's Office knew of the rampant rivalry between the two men, and neither of them bothered to hide their disdain for the other one.

Armand noted that White looked rather angry, not that it was unusual. His red hair, that had always been oddly still despite being cut and styled midlength, seemed more flaming than ever, and the squib had half a mind to step away, in case it was to ignite. White's azure eyes, and as always Armand couldn't refrain from inwardly sniggering at the colorless name, were death-staring at him, and as always that was enough to strangle silent the mental sneer.

“White.”

The man greeted him back with the same lack of respect, and the two of them glared at each other. They had practice with doing so, and did it very well.

“Do you know why we were called?”

“I don't even know why we were sent looking for Santa and the magical explanation, not that we were likely to found anything, so why would I know why the Prime Minister wants to see us? It's certainly not what I had in mind when I decided to work here.”

Armand arched an eyebrow, but stayed silent. He still had no clue how White could be so polite or at least proper with just about everyone, and yet let down the mask for him. For half a second, the squib felt flattered to be in the know, but the feeling soon disappeared. Lucius too didn't bother with appearances when it came to him, and that wasn't because the wizard thought him worthy of knowing his true face. More like, “Armand” equaled “worm-a-Malfoy-shouldn't-bother-himself-to-look-proper-with”.

Alexander White was just like Lucius Malfoy, only standing for military officers and soldiers rather than for pureblooded wizards and witches. Therefore, to him, Armand was certainly something like a “worm-the-former-soldier-would-never-respect”.

He shrugged, and both of them walked in silence to meet the Prime Minister. On their way, they saw a highly distressed Thomas Johnson, who had apparently been waiting for them since he had called the two men, and who led them to the office as if they didn't know their way around.

Armand glanced at the black man who was the new secretary to the Prime Minister, searching his memory for a previous meeting between the Auror and himself, and felt relieved when he found he had no recollection of such an encounter.

Johnson began to talk with Shacklebolt, saying that the two men had been asked to come urgently, but the secretary shrugged and said that the Prime Minister was not to be disturbed. Johnson was becoming paler by the minute, arguing that the Prime Minister was certainly not to be disturbed while Alexander and Armand would be talking to him, after all, he had expressly asked to see the two men. But Shacklebolt only said that he had heard the door being locked from the inside, and didn't know anything else.

Of course, Kingsley knew that the door wasn't exactly locked. They had discussed it with the Minister for Magic, Scrimgeour, the ex-Minister, Fudge, and the new head of the Auror Office, Gawain Robards. Scrimgeour was to spell the door not to open for anybody that wasn't magical during his talk with the Prime Minister, so that no one would barge in, but Kinsgley could still come in if somehow there was an attack.

The Auror sighed, as Johnson was becoming more and more distraught.

The Death Eaters were getting bolder with each day that passed, and Kingsley didn't like that at all. During the last wizarding war, there had been up to thirteen attempted attacks on the muggle government, leading to the permanent assignment of an Auror at 10, Downing Street. It wouldn't have been good if the Prime Minister of the Muggle Community of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland had been killed by a Death Eater, or worse, put under the Imperius curse.

And so here he was, Kingsley Shacklebolt, working as a secretary while his colleagues and friends, fellow Aurors, members of the Order of the Phoenix, and family members, were out there, battling masked murderers or simply praying to survive.

The Prime Minister was certainly having a fit in his own office, talking about dark wizards and dark lords and murders and natural disasters and suspicious accidents with the former Minister for Magic and the current Minister for Magic, he mused.

Armand and Alexander had gone back to bickering. That was one of the things they did the best together, with ignoring each other and competiting for the title of best ministry employee.

Johnson eventually calmed down, and let himself fall on a chair, obviously brooding. He had had a terrible week, as everyone else, and had had to put up with journalists and groundless accusations for hours sooner this day. Really, the world was going crazy, and none of the employees in the building were doing what they were supposed to do anymore. Johnson was doing the work of others, others were doing his work, and he could only hope that the madness in Downing Street would soon die down, because they weren't working right for now.

After five minutes of waiting, Armand grew impatient, and though he knew there was no way the door would open, he turned the handle and pushed, just to be sure. If the door wasn't really locked, and Shacklebolt had been wrong about it, maybe hearing another sound and believing it had been the door being locked, he had to make his and White's presences known, since the Prime Minister had asked for them.

Still, he was a bit surprised when the door really opened.

Kingsley stilled on his chair for a second, before letting his wand out of its holster and asking the family names of the two men who had to see the Prime Minister, suddenly remembering that Johnson had never told him their last names. How could he have been so irresponsible?

Armand pushed the door a bit more, and looking inside the office, spotted the Prime Minister sitting at his desk, speaking with two men that he couldn't recognize from the door, though the bright green bowler hat was highly suspicious.

“Excuse us, Prime Minister, but you asked for us, didn't you? Shall we come back later?”

The moment he had seen the bowler hat, Armand had known he was in deep shit. When Shacklebolt had said that the door was locked, he hadn't meant it as locked with the key as much as locked with a spell... that certainly distinguished magical beings and muggles, thus allowing the Auror entry in case of attack. And if the door had opened for him...

Squib status given away by the simple act of pushing a door.

Brilliant.

Back on the other side of said door, Johnson looked at Shacklebolt as if he had gone insane, and that was comprehensible seeing as the secretary was pointing a stick at Armand's back, while Alexander White looked upset at that sight, as if he knew why the secretary to the Prime Minister was pointing a stick at his colleague.

Still, Thomas Johnson had seen a lot of madness in 10, Downing Street, during the past days, much more than he had ever thought he'd witness in his whole life, and he knew that an overworked man could do strange things. It was certainly better to just go along with the situation, and wait for it to calm down.

But maybe it was only the tiredness in him that was making itself known, rather than his sense of duty pushing him to safely handle the situation.

“Alexander White and Armand Malfoy, why?”

Armand heard his name being said, and decided it was the right time to completely enter the Prime Minister's office, letting Shacklebolt to deal with Johnson. The poor man would certainly be obliviated, but with the craziness that had invaded Downing Street, thanks to the Death Eaters and Voldemort, Johnson would surely believe he had worked too much and blacked out for a couple of minutes.

Armand saw the two wizards sitting with the Prime Minister draw out their wands, and sighed. Oh, the infamous name of Malfoy had certainly something to do with Fudge and Scrimgeour's reactions. And let's not forget that he had basically entered an office in which no non-magical person was supposed to come, even less when the current and the former Ministers for Magic were in the room.

If he could strangle Lucius right now, right here, he'd have done it.

Armand also expected Shacklebolt to join them once he'd have taken care of Johnson.

What he hadn't expected was that White had followed him as he had come in, closing the door behind them. What he hadn't expected was that if White seemed deeply angry at the whole situation, the man didn't look like he was the least surprised with what was happening. What he hadn't expected was that White seemed to know about the wizarding world.

Armand decided to ignore all this, and to focus on the Ministers.

The Prime Minister looked gobsmacked with everything that was happening in his office, and the fact that two of his employees seemed to know about all this madness, or at least not to be disturbed in the slightest with the lack of logic in what was happening.

Fudge was still sitting in his armchair, his wand pointed at the two intruders, but he didn't seem to understand much of what was going on either.

Scrimgeour, on the other hand, looked like he could hex someone into the next century. Not so surprising, Armand mused, as the wizard had been an Auror for years before becoming Minister for Magic. But even if it was to be expected, it didn't make it more reassuring.

Fudge observed the two men who had walked in despite Scrimgeour's spell on the door. If something had to be done about them, the former Minister was positive that the former Auror would deal with it way better than he could have. So Fudge simply stared at the two men.

The first one surely had some Malfoy features, such as the pale blond hair, and he stood as it was befitting of a Malfoy. And the name wasn't widely spread, even less amongst muggles. What's more, the rare squibs in the family had all wed a witch or wizard of lesser birth, never a muggle, so that the name wouldn't be lost in “muggle filth” and the descendants, if proved worthy, would be able to reenter the family one day. So this “Armand Malfoy” was likely to be part of the House of Malfoy. Strangely enough, Fudge didn't remember him from any kind of events at Malfoy Manor, and even less out in society.

It could only mean...

That was it. Once, Fudge had heard Yaxley teasing the Malfoy Lord about a squib cousin... assumptions that Lucius Malfoy had quickly dismissed by redirecting the conversation on another subject.

But what were the odds that the Malfoy squib would be working a 10, Downing Street? The young man had surely been put here by the head of his family, to keep an eye on the muggle side, and be of some use for once!

Proud of his deductions, Fudge turned his attention to the second man, and quickly decided that though Alexander White had all the haughtiness that the Malfoy squib seemed to lack, this man surely had nothing to do with the wizarding world.

Yes, White surely had followed the squib inside, not knowing what he had walked into.

Speaking of that, it explained why the door had opened, if Armand Malfoy was a squib, but it didn't explain why Shacklebolt had let them in, even less why the Auror wasn't there with them.

Really, if Fudge had still been Minister for Magic, this particular Auror wouldn't have lasted long after such a mistake. Hell, the wizard had been working for Dumbledore and his Order for the past year, despite the Ministry's policy, despite Fudge's policy, and no one had fired him yet? So what if Dumbledore had been right all along, and so what if Shacklebolt had done the right thing? He had worked against the Ministry, had worked with a convicted criminal, Sirius Black, had wasted the Auror Office's manpower by giving it false informations, had continued to work with Dumbledore after the old wizard's escape at Hogwarts! Nevermind that Black was likely not guilty, that Dumbledore had never been guilty of anything, and that Fudge had been wrong all along, there, see, he even admitted it. The thing was, Shacklebolt's loyalty obviously laid with Dumbledore, and not with the Ministry.

Fudge's ranting stopped when the man who had followed the Malfoy squib snorted, breaking the silence with something close to disgust in his tone.

“Prime Minister, would you be so kind as to dismiss us if you don't need us anymore? I'd rather not spend any time with people like them if I could.”

All eyes went to the Prime Minister, who took a while to respond. He seemed really lost, this time, and maybe a bit shocked.

“Wait a minute, White, what do you mean, 'people like them'?”

Alexander White gave the Prime Minister a patronizing look that shouldn't have been, but he seemed to always get away with his attitude, much to Armand's surprise and discomfort. Seriously, how could no one see that White was obnoxious?

“Fools waving around sticks while shouting incantations freely when freaks like them should be supervised closely, for they could very well kill someone with their stupid magic?”

Fudge, Scrimgeour and Shacklebolt, who had finally joined them, glared at White in revulsion, and Armand could totally understand that. White had sounded exactly like Lucius did when he talked about the “filthy mudbloods, muggles and worms”, and had directed his hatred at the whole magical population. And while it was true that the world would definitely be better off without some of the said wizards and witches, like, Death Eaters, most of the wizarding world was decent.

But it was mostly surprise that made everyone shut up, except Armand, who looked at his colleague with interest.

“And how do you know about that now, White?”

The man glared at his co-worker, and his eyes went back to the three wizards in the room.

“I could return the question, Malfoy. How do you know about the magical insanity of the world?”

Armand smirked, but did his best not to move around too much. He had yet to feel comfortable enough with two wands at his throat before acting in a the most arrogant Malfoy manner possible. In other words, he woudn't ever.

“I was the first one to ask, White, but since you insist, I was born in one of the insane magical families, though I don't have any magical capacities. The most I can do is seeing dementors, ghosts, and other beings otherwise invisible to muggles.”

Armand saw a sidelong glance being exchanged between Scrimgeour and Shacklebolt, whose wands withdrew a bit from his jugular, but not enough to his liking. Being a squib had its perks, sometimes. Rarely, but sometimes.

White glared at him and scowled, but it wasn't much more different from the usual, so Armand ignored it. Instead, he reiterated his own question.

But before White could even begin to answer, the Prime Minister came back to his senses.

“Yes, exactly, White, how in the world do you know about the magical world?! I thought the secret was well kept?!”

And he glared, though it could have been mixed up with a scared look, at the current and former Ministers for Magic, as if to say that they hadn't done their job well enough.

Scrimgeour ignored the resentful-and-fearful-at-the-same-time look, and simply raised an eyebrow at White. This man reminded him of someone, but who did he knew that had this condescending attitude already?

“Actually, we'd be rather interested in knowing how you understood that we were wizards, and not some lunatics trying to fool the Prime Minister? Did you know beforehand or did you simply deduce that we had to be magical in some way?”

Shacklebolt's voice surprised everyone, and Armand chuckled, trying to ignore the outraged look on the said Prime Minister's face, who was certainly wondering once again if the Auror wasn't speaking the truth for once and he was really being fooled by some mad men, though he had no idea how they could have messed with the fireplace to make it look like they had stepped out of a magical green fire.

White assessed the black wizard who had just talked, then Scrimgeour and finally Fudge, before casting a quick glance at his colleague / sworn office-enemy / newly-discovered-freak-though-he-had-had-doubts-before.

“My older sister married one of you freaks, and my nephew is as abnormal as his father. Al turned my hair pink and green last month, his father had to undo it himself. Pink and green! As for how I recognized you, two of you are wearing robes, this man over there has a bright green bowler, no decent people wear a bright green bowler, and you're waving wands around.”

Exactly, Armand thought, they were a bit obvious. On the other hand, Fudge and Scrimgeour had certainly not expected to meet another muggle during their visit to the Prime Minister, so they hadn't seen the point of wearing muggle clothes.

The squib also noted that there was pure disdain in his colleague's tone when he spoke of his brother-in-law, but not as much when he talked about his nephew. Maybe the child being his sister's blood made him less of a freak, as Armand was less of a disappointment to his parents than to the other branch of the family.

Armand sneered when his thoughts went to a green-and-pink-haired Alexander White.

Shacklebolt had frowned when White had mentioned his nephew, wondering if there was a White at Hogwarts, but he suddenly remembered that the kid certainly had his father's name.

“How old is your nephew?”

Alexander White scowled at the Auror, but with less disgust than he had for Fudge. From what Al's father had told him, Aurors were the top of the military aspect of the wizarding world. And as far as Alexander hated everything that had to do with magic, and how could he not, when his own sister had left the forces for this good-for-nothing wizard and married him?, he also had respect for anything remotely linked to the armed forces.

“Alshain turned eleven last month. Why do you care?”

“That's why, then. He'll go to Hogwarts next year only...”

Shacklebolt said nothing after that, looking more pensive than anything else, though he was still ready to attack or defend if needed.

Armand wondered if the boy, Alshain, was anything like his mother and uncle. If so, he'd be dangerous with or without a wand, regardless. And if the boy grew to be good at magic and even a bit powerful, he'd certainly make a very good Auror... or anything else. Armand shuddered. He certainly didn't want to think about a younger version of Alexander White, able to do magic, and willing to serve the bad side.

That was when he noticed that the eyes had fallen upon him once again.

Armand smiled a weak smile.

He didn't like to be the center of attention. Because when he was, he always did something foolhardy, and for a squib with Malfoy as a last name, it wasn't a good idea at all.

Right, the truth was, he loved to be the center of attention, the only thing was that it had rarely been a good thing with good consequences when he had been in presence of wizards and witches. But who cared? Lucius, the good cousin, the wizard, not-the-squib-shame, Lucius Malfoy the Great, Lord Malfoy, Lucius the obnoxious bastard who hated his squib-shame of a cousin, was in Azkaban.

Armand could just ignore him.

And hell, he hated his cousin Lucius the perfect Malfoy.

Armand's smile grew wider when Scrimgeour looked him in the eyes, asking him with a dead serious tone if he was working for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and spying on the muggle Prime Minister, possibly putting the man under the Imperius curse just for good measure. After all, who knew, maybe he had been lying when he had implied that he was a squib?

The man bowed, a large grin on his face, thinking of how much he could possibly shame Lucius this fine evening.

“Minister, I'm offended. Do you even know who I am?”

Scrimgeour only looked at him oddly, but Fudge fidgeted and Shacklebolt's wand withdrew a bit more. Surely, a Malfoy with a sense of humor couldn't be so bad, could he?

“Armand Nicholas Malfoy, the great and only living shame of the Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy, the most useless, hateful, worthless card in the Malfoy deck, for your eyes and ears only: the squib.”

His smile had disappeared as he had ended his tirade, and he was standing tall again, a grim look on his face that no one missed before it faded away, replaced with a pleasant but business-like expression. A pure Malfoy one at that.

“Seriously, Minister. Most of the wizarding world ignore my existence, and it's not because I'm a secret weapon or anything. Half of my family denies being related to me, and the other half would cry every night because I'm not a wizard though I'm theoretically a pure-blood, if Malfoys could actually cry, that is. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is stubbornly going after the muggle-borns and those who stand against him for now, but if he gets his way, he won't stop there, and will go after muggles and squibs alike. I don't have anything to gain by serving him, not even my life, since he seems to like to off his own followers when he's angry. Which is pretty stupid, by the way.”

Armand saw Shacklebolt nod to himself as he finished speaking, while Fudge and Scrimgeour observed him carefully. At least, he wasn't threatened with a wand anymore.

White was looking at him very stangely, and Armand shifted under his glance, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden. To end this, he tried to walk out of the room with a quick “if there's nothing else of importance, we'll leave you to what you were doing”.

But Scrimgeour's voice stopped him even before his hand touched the door handle.

“As pleased as I'd be if you were to be saying the truth, I'm afraid I can't simply take you at face value, which is, considering you're a Malfoy, not so great to begin with. I've also been thinking that it would be good to change the Muggle Liaison Office a bit, especially during these troubled times. Your involvement with this government makes me wonder: most of us can't understand a world without magic, and even the muggle-borns are too estranged from the muggle way of life. Squibs, on the other hand, and muggles with the knowledge of our world, would be the perfect candidates for such an office.”

Everyone looked at the new Minister for Magic with wide eyes. The Prime Minister was literally lost this time around, and even Armand stood mouth hanging open.

“Wait a minute, are you offering me a job in the wizarding world? Because if that's the case, I'm surely dreaming, and that would even explain how in all hell and heavens even White can be aware of the existence of magic...”

The way the young Malfoy squib squinted his eyes clearly implied that the man was really considering his explanation of the situation as possible. Kingsley Shacklebolt smirked a bit, suddenly reminded of another member of a well known dark family who had surprised everyone. The Auror wondered for a second if Sirius and Armand could possibly get along, which led him to think that if he was allowed a job at the Ministry, the young squib would be a good addition to the Order of the Phoenix. He obviously wasn't pleased with Lucius Malfoy or his ideals, and he would have access to everything going between the two worlds.

Because the Muggle Liaison Office was often overlooked, but it was important enough. The most pressing situations, such as the worst attacks on which the muggle authorities should better back down quickly, but didn't always, because no one told them so, were handled thanks to this office. If Scrimgeour considered changing the way the Muggle Liaison Office worked...

Kingsley and Tonks, as Aurors, could warn Dumbledore and the other members of the Order, but most of the times, it happened only after the facts, for they were a tad busy fighting off Death Eaters during the facts.

Scrimgeour frowned before remembering that Armand Malfoy was certainly a Malfoy, but also a squib. The boy, and now the man, had always been kept away from the wizarding world even if he was magical, not so much, that was true, but magical nonetheless. Because he was a shame, for himself and for his family. And because, what the hell would he do in the wizarding world? It wasn't as if he could do any magic.

Scrimgeour, with his old lion looks, sat back in the armchair he had left the moment he had heard the name Malfoy.

“My offer isn't a joke, nor is this a dream, mister Malfoy. The Muggle Liaison Office is doing a one-sided job, because of the Statute of Secrecy. But some people without magical powers are allowed to know about our world without being obliviated, such as the parents of muggle-borns. If the Prime Minister allows it, I'd like to hire you two, but still have you work here, to counteract the job of the Office in the Ministry of Magic. You'd be part of our Ministry, not of the muggle one, you'd be payed by the Ministry of Magic, and of course, no muggle who isn't in this room would know of your change of job. This way, the Prime Minister wouldn't have to deal with the stress of a wizard's visit if some catastrophe happens, and you are more qualified to explain simply to a muggle what is really going on than we are.”

Armand blinked at the news.

If there was one thing he'd have never expected to happen in his whole life, even when he had been a kid and hadn't known yet that he was a squib, it was for the Minister for Magic to personaly offer him a job.

Alexander, on the other end, had yet to come to terms with the fact that he had been included in the job offer.

Scrimgeour looked pointedly at the Prime Minister, visibly waiting for his approval, and the man shrugged before saying that, why not, if they could make it work, and really, from what he had understood, it would be great if each time that Voldething did something terrible a wizard didn't step out of his fireplace. He was even ready to give White and Malfoy a room for their offices, as they couldn't possibly go around talking about magical things and even more magical events in 10, Downing Street. It would cause disorder if they did.

“But will two people be enough?”

Scrimgeour looked at the two men, sure that they were up to the task. After all, Armand Malfoy had been raised, before he had been discovered to be a squib, to live up to his name. He worked for the Prime Minister, and not for some random individual. Alexander White, on the other hand, appeared not to like the wizarding world much, but he seemed to care for his wizard nephew, so that could still change. And hell, the man was certainly able to cope, even with the death toll that would take over soon, or, well, that had already began to disturb everyone. It was written all over his attitude: Alexander White had been a soldier, and wasn't afraid of death, of killers, of bodies or of blood.

Though, the Prime Minister had a point. Two people weren't much, and the other part of the Muggle Liaison Office would certainly whine over his decisions and try to ignore a muggle and a squib, working on its own. If the 10,-Downing-Street-part of the Office was a bit more important in numbers, the Ministry-of-Magic-part would have more trouble trying to ignore them.

“We'll see with time. For now, those two are already something, and you'll know what you're dealing with next time the giants try something, even if you won't be able to tell anyone. I'll have someone change the Muggle Liaison Office system by the end of next week, and as soon as it's put into motion, White and Malfoy will change their job for this one. Will that do?”

The Prime Minister nodded, still wary with the statement about giants, but what could he do about that?

Fudge looked at his watch, and once again Armand rolled his eyes when he saw the magical watch. Of course, he knew how to read it, but he couldn't say so of the Prime Minister and White. Why wizards needed to have the blooming cycle of some flowers on their watchs, though, he had never understood.

“Rufus, it's already this late. I believe we said everything that had to be said, didn't we?”

The current Minister for Magic glanced at the watch, frowned, looked at every person in the room and nodded thoughtfully.

“We were about to leave when... Well, we have a lot to tend to, with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters. We shall leave you, and if we are lucky enough, Prime Minister, you won't have to see me anymore, as Malfoy and White will take care of informing you if anything happens after next week.”

The two wizards left through the floo network, and Kingsley Shacklebolt went back to his desk. The Prime Minister made it clear that he needed to think, and who would blame him for that? and said that half of the inquiries he had for White and Malfoy had been answered with this peculiar visit.

Alexander and Armand made their way back to their own desks, took their belongings in silence and left 10, Downing Street, still a bit unnerved by all that had happened this night.

Armand was eager to tell Eleanor.

At his desk, Kingsley sighed deeply, tired, and hoping that no Death Eater would try to assassinate the muggle minister while the man was still in Downing Street. He wasn't in the mood for a fight.

A quick _Homenum Revelio_ told him that apart from the slightly drunk Prime Minister brooding in the nearest office, the place had been almost deserted. The Auror pulled a mirror out of his suit pocket, and hell it was weird to wear a suit, not only because he was a wizard but also because being of african descent, muggles said nothing when he didn't dress muggle-like.

“Albus Dumbledore, liquorice wand.”

The reflection of the old headmaster of Hogwarts took his own reflection's place.

“ _Kingsley, I'm pleased to see you are well. How is your work going?”_

Two-way mirrors weren't so common, and the charms to make one, or more accurately two, was tricky, but the Order of the Phoenix had Albus Dumbledore on their side, and the wizard had succeeded in doing not only two-way mirrors, but multiple-way mirrors for all the members of the Order. Of course, it could be a problem if a Death Eater was to get one of the set and spy thanks to it, and so they had been charmed again to work only with the right password, one for each member. Dumbledore's was, unsurprisingly, a sweet.

The Auror winced.

“ _Not so good, is it? Something happened, perhaps?”_

And the headmaster's eyes looked at him so strangely that Kingsley had the feeling Dumbledore already knew. It wasn't possible, was it?

“The Malfoy squib, Armand Nicholas Malfoy, works here. I hadn't seen him before, 'seems like he was traveling. Fudge and Scrimgeour saw him, and the Minister even talked about changing the Muggle Liaison Office and opening two and possibly more jobs to squibs and muggles relatives knowing of the wizarding world here, to interact directly with the Prime Minister. He seemed to be serious enough about that, and he offered the first two jobs to Armand Malfoy and one Alexander White, who has a sister married with a wizard. By the way, she has a son who will begin Hogwarts next year.”

Dumbledore looked a bit surprised at the news, but the twinkle in his eyes made it known that he thought the change was for the best. Also, the Auror knew that talking about new students had always been something that made the headmaster happy.

“ _If Rufus Scrimgeour has done one thing right since his nomination, that's it. If only he could stop suspecting Sirius so much, it'd be for the best, but alas he is still not disposed to hear reason...”_

“How he is doing?”

“ _Sirius? I saw him at noon. He had two human, Auror shadows, and seemed a bit disturbed when he finally understood what it implied to be the official Black Lord, but that aside, he looked fine.”_

Kingsley turned his eyes away from the mirror, as if to hide the guilt and the doubt in his heart from Dumbledore. He hadn't found the time to visit Sirius after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, and felt bad about it, but it wasn't the worst of it.

“What about his... stunt?”

For a second Dumbledore's reflection looked stern and even a bit frightening. Kingsley shivered. The next second, though, the grandfatherly behavior and smile were back.

“ _I hope you are not doubting him too, Kingsley. Sirius might need our help to stay out of prison, as we will need his in this war against Voldemort. He has proved himself often enough, I daresay.”_

The Auror winced a bit at the soft reprimands. With the headmaster, it always made everyone think they were naughty children being scolded too gently, and the guilt-o-meter reached new highs with each scolding.

Kingsley gathered his courage and looked back at the mirror.

“The thing is, Dumbledore, that no one knows what Sirius did. How could he survive death itself? Tonks told me about his dark magic relapses, and even if I'm not sure she thought about it that way, it sounded very suspicious. The rare Aurors who have an idea of what he did, because they were there when he gave an half-hearted explanation in the Atrium, have been told to keep quiet, but their disgust is showing. Mad-Eye defends Sirius, but I also know that he saw more than we did, and I heard him rambling about recklessness.”

“ _Sirius will say everything at his trial, and frankly, Kingsley, even if he used the Dark Arts to survive, I wouldn't hold it against him. It was against Bellatrix Lestrange, to save his own life, and he is a Black. He will never lose himself to the temptation of the Dark Arts.”_

That statement stunned the Auror, not only because it had been said by Albus Dumbledore, publicly against unwarranted uses of the Dark Arts, but also because people tended to forget about the House of Black's particuliarities. Everybody always remembered their ease with dark magic, but never that this ease came from an immunity to the corruptive nature of the Dark Arts. It wasn't as if the Blacks were flaunting this particularity, after all...

Kingsley let out his last doubts. He didn't know if Dumbledore's approval of Sirius Black's actions would make him feel better about them, if he could trust the man again, but he needed to say it.

“Tonks told me he had taken the official Lordship.”

The ever rebellious Sirius Black had accepted his pureblooded inheritance, in other words.

“ _And he took Andromeda back in the family, as well as he accepted Nymphadora and Edward. Isn't that enough to soothe your doubts, Kingsley?”_

 


	9. A few seconds of hatred

 

Sirius woke up in a bed. A large, dark, and incredibly comfortable bed.

Opening his eyes, he took in the room the bed was in. At the top of the black walls, a silver line caught scarce rays of light. He stared at the deep green of the ceiling, thinking that if he were to change one thing in the room, it was this. His eyes fell on the furthest wall, black as well, where heavy black and silver curtains hid a large bay window.

With mild eagerness, Sirius got out of bed, and soon he felt sorry for this decision, as the bed had been really, really comfortable, and he totally felt like he could have slept for several more days in it if he had had the time to do so.

The wizard could have taken his wand and spelled the curtains to open, but since he had gotten his wand back, he felt strange with it. No bad, but strange. He'd have to go to Ollivanders and see if something was wrong with his wand, or worse, with him. He shuddered at the idea.

So he walked to the windows, drew the curtains, and finaly felt the morning sun on his skin. He closed his eyes. At Grimmauld Place, there was never a ray of light. At least, there hadn't been one since he had gone back there.

After a while, Sirius opened his eyes and looked beyond the glass, outside, and though Black Manor was, by definition, black, it didn't look gloomy at all. Sterhn had done a good job in keeping the manor in its original state, for sure, and the return of the Lord of the House of Black had somehow livened the place. The grim look from the day before was long gone.

He opened the windows, and walked onto the balcony.

The Lord's room was the sole room on the third floor. Room, of course, wasn't the right word. There was also a bathroom, a study and something that was supposed to be a cupboard, but looked much more like a rather large room to store the Lord's clothes. It was situated above the library on the second floor, and the entrance hall on the ground floor. The second and third floors balconies were right above the entrance double door.

From above, the silk bridge over the pond was easily visible. Sterhn would have to take care of the trees and the lawn, but overall, the place was still great. Sirius extended his hand towards a raven that was perched on the balcony, and the bird croaked before perching on his arm. Not long after that, a crow joined it and cawed.

No wonder the raven was the House of Black's animal emblem. Difficult to tell them apart from afar, and really, it wasn't common for those birds to be so friendly with wizards or muggles. The Blacks had always had a thing with them though, and Sirius' eyes wandered on the proprierty, looking for the other animals in the manor's park, that weren't usually friendly. One of his ancestors had a strange obsession with those, and a very disturbing gift with animals, magical or not. A gift that Sirius had obviously inherited.

The crow and the raven, seeing that they weren't paid much attention anymore, flew away.

Sirius went back inside and picked up some clothes, not even bothering with robes, only black pants and a white shirt, not in the mood to dress up. It was summer, it was hot, and he had nothing important to do before ten o'clock.

After... Well, that was another story.

The man passed by the kitchen and grabbed something quick to eat, and he heard Sterhn mumbling about the breakfast as he left. Turning on his heels, he spotted the house-elf and asked him where the two Aurors had slept.

“Sterhn prepared the crow and the thestral guest rooms. Will the guests take breakfast?”

“Make something quick for them, Sterhn, but don't bother waking them up. Once the'yre awake, they can eat either here or in their rooms. They are Aurors, so be polite, but don't be too obliging if one of them is rude towards you or any member of the House of Black.”

Sterhn nodded, suddenly wary as he understood that his master was still being annoyed by the Ministry. Sirius smirked, thinking of Dawlish's reaction when the house-elf would eventually snap at him. Then he remembered Bella, who had certainly been waiting at 12, Grimmauld Place, if only she had been able to go there. He hadn't thought about the Fidelius when he had ordered her to go there. But since he had been able to talk to her of Grimmauld Place, maybe she had been let in the secret, as she was linked to him?

The house-elf was already going back to his work, but Sirius took advantage that for once there was no Auror in sight and house-elf magic was a lot different from wizard's magic.

“Sterhn, go to the London House, and bring back Kreacher and the ghost that must be waiting there. Then, tell them to meet me at the foutain.”

The house-elf nodded eagerly and disapparated with a crack.

Sirius ate his bread as he walked to the back of the manor, left the building and went in the woods at the back of the property. He looked back one last time, checking that neither Dawlish nor Moody Jr. had woken up and taken upon them to tail him because he was certainly going to do something evil and illegal. Well, that was more Dawlish's style to think somethink like than Julius', but still.

The grand form of Black Manor, bathed in the morning light, greeted him like never before. Sirius stopped dead in his tracks, remembering the summers he had spent here before everything had gone aloof between him and his family.

Besides Andromeda, Regulus, his grandfather Arcturus and his father Orion, Sirius had never gotten along with the other family members. At a time, Narcissa and Bellatrix were alright, but it hadn't lasted. His Sorting in Gryffindor had estranged him from Narcissa, and Bellatrix was already too engrossed with the Dark Arts by the time he had gone to Hogwarts. Druella and Cygnus Black, the sisters' parents, had always been cold to him, because he was a boy, because he was the heir, when they only had daughters. Maybe if they had loved their daughters a bit more, Bellatrix wouldn't have gone bonkers. His grandfather Pollux had been in too bad terms with his own daughter to be present in Sirius' and Regulus' lives. The young Lord couldn't hold it against him, after all, said daughter was his mother, and Merlin knew if Walburga Black was easy to live with. The day he had run away to the Potters, Sirius had stated that his father should have been awarded a third class Order of Merlin just for being her husband. That had earned him a nasty stinging hex on his left shoulder.

The back of the manor was majestic, and if he squinted his eyes enough, he could see the gigantic library on the second floor quite well. It was a dark building, but who cared? Malfoy Manor was a lot more white, but it was cold as hell. And well, some could say that a manor built with black stones, mostly decorated with black furnitures, and which name was Black Manor, was completely logical.

And anyway, Sirius liked the color black. He liked black, silver and gold more than anything else. Black and silver were the family colors, and gold had kicked in with his Sorting in Gryffindor.

If someone had in mind to say that black was a dark wizards' color, he'd gladly redirect them to Snivellus, but would make a comment about black being one of the two Hufflepuff colors.

Sirius shook his head, and made his way in the woods until he reached a small clearing with a beautiful round fountain in its center.

A house-elf and a ghost were already there, waiting for him. Bella looked disgruntled, and Kreacher looked Kreacherish. Nothing strange there, considering. After all, he had forgotten Bella the day before.

“ _Glad to see that my Lord remembered us.”_

The tone Bellatrix used to make this snide comment was as disgruntled as she looked, but Sirius didn't appreciate it as he would have if she had used another expression than “my Lord”.

“Could you please not call me that, Bella?”

The ghost gruntled, hovering a bit above him and decidedly not looking at him.

“ _And why is that?”_

“The last person I believe you called 'my Lord' caused my brother's death and many others', and look a bit too much like a snake-faced monster to my liking.”

Bella said nothing, visibly shocked when she understood who he was talking about.

“I'm Sirius, and Voldemort is Voldepants or the Dark Bastard as far as I'm concerned. But that aside, did you make any progress with Kreacher?”

The fact that said elf was right next to them didn't seem to disturb Sirius, even when the house-elf was growling at him almost like a beast. On second thought, Sirius dismissed him, ordering the elf to go and really clean Grimmauld Place, for such filth wasn't befitting of a property of the House of Black. Kreacher snorted but complied. Apparently, the greatness of the Blacks was the keyword to get him to work.

As soon as they were alone, Bella sighed, sitting just above the ground, next to her cousin.

“ _I got him not to insult anyone anymore, it's already something. As you said, he likes me a lot better than he does like you, but my sudden change of allegiance and personality made him suspiscious. For him to actually behave like a house-elf around you, I fear we'll need to ask Sterhn to talk to him, or even Regulus.”_

Sirius paled, and he didn't seem to be joking when he looked his cousin's ghost in the eyes.

“Take that back. I won't appreciate any joke made about my brother.”

“ _So you haven't noticed?”_

The man's upper lip was quivering, between anger and incertitude.

But Bella looked like she was really serious, and not at all playing with his feelings. Her gaze was peering in her cousin's soul with an unusual steadiness, and suddenly she saw the young Lord Black running back to the manor, running, racing to the dining room, to the family tree.

Bellatrix sighed, unsure of her actions and words. Had she done that the right way, or had she simply worsened Sirius' trust in her? A pang of guilt crushed her non-existing heart as she remembered that this faltering trust existed only because he knew she was bound to obey him, and he had taken precautions.

What had she done with her life?

Her younger sister despised her, her youngest sister shared her views but was afraid of her. Her husband didn't love her, she didn't love him, and she had wasted years in love with a man who would never even look at anyone that way, least of all her. She had had no children, fortunately for those children she mused, and that wasn't comforting at all.

Why had she supported Andromeda's disownment? Always, they had said, Blacks before anything else. Family before blood purity. A Black is a Black, regardless of their blood status. Pure-blood is better, but a Black stays a Black. Andromeda and her daughter were Blacks. Even the mudblood husband and father was a Black by extension.

But no, Bellatrix had been blinded by all the Dark Lord was saying, his ideals, his standards. Not even the Blacks standards were as terrible as the Dark Lord's. Aside from Walburga who was mad, no one in the family wanted the muggles to die and disappear, as well as the muggle-borns, the squibs, and eventually, the half-bloods. The Blacks weren't crazy. They knew it would have been their downfall if such a thing had happened, even if they would never have admitted it. The occasional murder, yes, the genocide, no.

The ghost shook those thoughts out of her head, and discreetly headed to the dining room. Sterhn had told her about the Aurors, and she didn't want to be a problem to Sirius.

Her newly sane self was discovering that while she still believed pure-bloods to be the best, and Sirius was a pure-blood, she also knew that the others weren't vermin for all that. And evidently, Blacks, being pureblooded, halfblooded or even of muggle parentage, were the best of the best.

Sirius, herself, Narcissa, Regulus, Andromeda, Nymphadora, even Edward Tonks as Andie's husband, were better. They all were good wizards and witches, they were all part of the House of Black since Sirius had decided so, and none of them were a shame for their blood. Others, related to the Blacks by blood, but part of other Houses, such as Draco as Narcissa's son, Dorea's grandson, if he had outlived the first war, were good enough to equal any pure-blood whether or not they were pure-bloods themselves, because they had Black blood still thick enough.

That wasn't yet believing in the same equality as her cousin did, but that'd have to do. Bella didn't think she could truly believe that mudbloods and half-bloods were just as good as pure-bloods if they weren't related to the House of Black in some way. Yes, she was prejudiced, she knew it, and she couldn't do anything about that.

When she passed through one of the dining room's window, she found Sirius kneeling next to the wall with the family tree. His fingers, brushing over his brother's name, were pale in the dim light coming in the room. The light orbs weren't lit, and the sun was on the other side of the manor.

Bella observed her cousin under a new light. He was as handsome as ever, but now that he wasn't in the hospital light, she could notice how pale he was.

Sirius had always been of a pale complexion, a true Black, with the family black ink hair, and the rare but gorgeous silver eyes he shared with his brother and mother. Not all the Blacks looked like that, of course, but the eyes, the hair, the complexion, they came back every generation, not always on one single person, but there nonetheless. Sirius had all, Regulus had the eyes and the hair, Bellatrix had the hair and the complexion, Narcissa and Andromeda had the complexion. Walburga had had the eyes as Alphard, Orion the hair and the complexion as Cygnus.

They were always like that, the Blacks. They took features from the wifes' and husbands' families, but all in all, they stayed true to the name of Black. Same thing with their ease with dark magic.

Maybe there was some kind of enchantment or curse on the family name.

Whatever, it wasn't the matter. The matter was, Sirius looked, not sick, not bad as he had post-Azkaban, he looked really good, healthy and all, but he looked different. It was the same man, the same features, but in a way, he was as handsome as before, as enthralling, but a bit more dark, dangerous, even...

He reminded her of the Dark Lord, she quickly realized. The ghost squinted her eyes, surprised by such a realization.

Well, Sirius was nowhere as bad as the Dark Lord, that she could swear. But there was something, in his behavior, his stance, in this new and yet similar pallor, that definitely reminded her of the old Tom Marvolo Riddle, the one that was still a bit human. The hollow temples, the dark circles under his eyes, the pallor, it didn't make him look like he was ill, surprisingly, no, it...

Those were the marks of the use of the darkest magics.

Bella hadn't understood before, because to cause real changes in one's physiognomy, the Dark Arts had to be used a lot. Her, the dozens of killing curses, all the Cruciatus curses, the Imperius curses, and the lesser dark spells she had performed, had not touched her. The dants in her beauty had been due to Azkaban, and nothing else. The Dark Lord, on the other hand, when he still had his first body, had sunk willingly in the darkest, foulest sorts of magic. From a handsome young man, he had become something else, his features still theoretically pleasant, unmoved... and disturbing, as if his good looks couldn't hide the truth of his soul.

And when she thought about it, it made sense.

Sirius had died.

Bellatrix Lestrange had killed him.

And no one could come back from the dead.

The Dark Lord had fooled death, certainly, but he had never been trully dead. The same could be said about Sirius. Both of their bodies had been created by the Dark Arts, and while Sirius had been nowhere as damaged as the Dark Lord when he had cast the Reciprocation curse, and so still looked all the way human, there were bound implications.

Bella winced. Apparently, if the Reciprocation curse could visibly affect the user's body, it was one of the darkest spell she had ever witnessed, right after the Dark Lord's foulest deeds. Luckily, Sirius wouldn't have to resort to such drastic measures in the future. She certainly didn't want him to end up as evil-looking as the Dark Lord.

A chance that Blacks didn't know the allurement of the Dark Arts, only their less important and down-to-earth side effects. If not, Sirius could have been lured into using even darker magic, and then, bye bye the good looks.

“What does this mean?”

The ghost snapped out of her thoughts and looked at the stone family tree. The effects of Sirius' decisions about the House of Black were the same as on the Black Family tapestry, obviously, but that didn't mean they had the same visual aspect. Bella had seen the tapestry mend itself before her very eyes the previous day, watching with interest as the burned off spots were restored, as the faces of the Blacks gained a new vigor.

On the wall of the dining room, there were no images of the family members, only silver-lined rectangles in which the names of the family members were carved with their birth and death dates, also in silver. The lines between fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers and sisters were silver too, while the wedlocked relationships appeared in gold.

It was a bit distrubing to see that Sirius already had one date of death, carved in gold unlike the others', in 1996. Then again, he wasn't the only one. Three other Blacks, all heads of the family, had, through a centuries old family tree, two dates of death, the first one being gold-lined.

But it wasn't what was unnerving Sirius, and, dare she think that, herself.

No, what was really unnacounted for, was the death date of Regulus Arturus Black.

Sirius stared at the wall, unsure of what to say, not knowing what to do. This, this had never happened before, and the thing was, the wall couldn't be wrong. But what the freaking hell was that supposed to mean?

When he had looked at it the day before, when his eyes had lingered on his little brother's name, it had been perfectly normal, it hadn't been like that. Not at all.

Regulus Arcturus Black

1961-1979

That was what had been written in silver carving on the wall.

But now?

Now, it was still written, mind you. But it wasn't written as it should have been. The name was there, all silvery and everything, just good, the birth date was alright, clearly written in silver, but the death date!

Regulus' death date was there. It was there, it was still 1979.

But it wasn't silvered.

Not anymore.

What was that supposed to mean?

Sirius cast a lost look at Bella, as if hoping that she had some sort of explanation, anything that could make sense. Because, he knew very well that Regulus was dead. If he wasn't, then why had the London tapestry, why had the wall, just the day before, showed that his little brother was dead?

Unless the last Lord, namely Arcturus, had knowingly messed with the family tree so that everybody would believe Regulus to be dead, Sirius didn't see how the wall and the tapestry could be wrong. Unless Regulus had somehow been taken back from the dead during the night, he had no explanation of what was happening. Unless he was going crazy, that is.

“You knew of this, Bella?”

The ghost winced.

“ _I was in Grimmauld Place when it happened. By the way, did you really have to send me in the eye of the storm? I had to hide from Order members, I'll have you know. So, I was growing impatient when I saw the tapestry mend itself, and I figured you had something to do with it and you were here, but, obedient as I am, I didn't rush to Black Manor, dumbly believing that you'll come as you had said. The images of all the disowned Blacks were coming back, the burn marks were disappearing, and the skulls of the ones that had had a violent death turned into their living faces. Regulus' too. But not entirely. His picture was becoming human again, and then it stopped.”_

Sirius ignored her complain, but frowned as she mentionned the skulls. He had never understood why the tapestry had this thing with skulls. After all, if it was for the dead, then every single one of the Black ancestors should have been depicted with a skull. One day, his father had told him it had to do with the way they had died. But Orion too had been unable to be more precise.

Regulus' was a skull.

It made sense, if he had been killed by Voldepants or one of his minions'. His death certainly hadn't been a happy, fluffy one.

“What do you mean, it stopped?”

The ghost shrugged, glancing at the doors each time she heard something. She really didn't want an Auror to burst in and see her. Not now, not here. It would be hell for Sirius, and for her too.

“ _It didn't fully revert back to a picture of his living face, and you could still see the lines of the skull through the lines of the face, but it was almost there. And his date of death was halfway erased.”_

“And here, it's only halfway done. The carving is there, but not the silver.”

Sirius stayed silent for a moment, then went and sat down in one of the dining seats. He sighed, closed his eyes, and stayed still for a time, before sighing once again.

“It's as if Regulus was in the process of dying, but was not dead yet. As if the family tree couldn't honestly see him as living, while he isn't completely dead either. As if, for all those years, he had been in agony, and as I corrected the status of the whole family, the family tree had to correct Regulus' actual, real status.”

Suddenly his silver eyes were on Bellatrix, fully appreciating her past as a Death Eater.

His question startled the ghost.

“Do you know how he died?”

Bella watched him warily, knowing very well that it wasn't just any subject. She had no idea how Sirius would take her answer, but there was no use in lying.

“ _I don't. Actually, no one knows, or if they do, they never talked about it. He simply disappeared, one day, and then the tapestry...”_

Sirius nodded, realizing what that could possibly mean.

“The Dark Bastard claimed to have had him executed only after one of us Blacks said he was dead, didn't he? For what we know, Voldemort could as well have not known of Regulus' death before everybody else... meaning that he might not have had him killed.”

Bellatrix didn't miss his use of the Dark Lord's actual fake / real / whatever-name-that-wasn't-his-but-yet-was-without-being-a-derogatory-name-such-as-'The-Dark-Bastard'-or-'Voldepants'.

“ _Well, the Dar... Voldemort had ordered us to be wary of Regulus weeks before. I'm sure he was doubting his fidelity, and because of that, we all thought he was the cause of Regulus' demise.”_

Sirius shook his head, a mirthless and rather unpleasant laugh on his lips.

“I have no doubt that Voldemort caused my brother's death. What I'm saying is that he might not have done so knowingly.”

And the man said no more.

Bella looked at her cousin, perplexed.

Some time passed, and the double door opened on the entrance hall as Julius Moody took a look in the dining room. The ghost went posthaste in the shadows of the high ceiling, disinclined to reveal herself and jeopardize everything Sirius was working for.

“There you are, Lord Black. The relief team is here, and they need you to get them in.”

The broody look on Sirius' face went away as fast as it had come, and the wizard positively beamed at the young Auror, certainly grabbing any opportunity not to think about his little brother and the mysteries of his disappearance / death / what-else-?.

“Does that mean I won't have to put up with Bitterish Dawlish?”

“Not before tomorrow, at least. I hope you didn't come up with a nickname for me too, I'm not sure I'd appreciate.”

Sirius arched an eyebrow comically as he joined the Auror in the entrance hall, noticing that said Bitterish Dawlish was already waiting by the front door, looking as uninviting as ever, in a hurry to leave Black Manor and at the same time dejected that he didn't have more time to look around in search of compromising documents or artifacts.

Sirius took his best Mad-Eye-voice and glared at the older Auror, before turning to Julius.

“You're already Moody Jr., lad, whatever you think about it. But don't worry, you're alright compared to Dawlish. Actually, I think that many people are alright compared to Dawlish. Even Mundungus Fletcher.”

Julius only chuckled. He couldn't say that he wanted to antagonize his senior Auror, but sometimes it looked like Dawlish wanted to be in bad terms with about everyone.

Sirius lead the two Aurors back to the gates, bid them goodbye in a ridiculously polite manner, and finally invited the relief team in.

Sirius watched the two new Aurors, a man and a woman this time, analyzing their behavior in search of clues of what they thought about him. They were oddly neutral, not friendly like Julius Moody, nor openly accusatory like Dawlish. All in all, they were doing their work right, not visibly bothered by the hearsay or their own beliefs, working as Aurors, by the law only, and thus refusing to judge him as it wasn't their place to do so. But Sirius had been seen as a criminal, and treated as such, for too long, and the neutrality was disturbing him.

“Aurors Savage and Gulch, Lord Black. We were ordered to keep an eye on you until the day of your trial. Please do refrain from trying to sneak out, and always warn us before leaving a place.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, opened his pocket watch, and had a manic grin.

“Then, Auror Savage, Auror Gulch, do put a tracking spell on me. And, would you please step out of the property? Don't worry, I shall follow you in this action, and won't shut you out of the manor.”

The Aurors backed away, rightly suspicious of his tone. Sirius passed the gates just after they did, and grabbed both their left forearms. The Aurors reached for their wands instantly, wondering why he hadn't gone for their right arms, after all, most persons were right-handed.

He let them do so.

“The Leaky Cauldron.”

His matter-of-fact tone told them it was the warning the witch had asked for, and the spinning around them told them they had been owned, as the young Lord was side-along disapparating them already.

They apparated in a dark alley near the pub. Savage, the wizard, and Gulch, the witch, jumped back as soon as the world became normal again, their wand drawn and pointed at Sirius, who ignored them and walked to the Leaky Cauldron. They shared disbelieving looks, and followed him before he could run off God knew where.

Sirius walked in the pub with a haughty look on his face that reminded him way too much of his mother, but eitherway, he was feeling so smug he could't help it. Or, he could, but didn't want to.

For years, all the people in there, all the witches and wizards that were actually in Diagon Alley, everyone in the freaking wizarding world, they had all thought him guilty. Only the ones who had actually been guilty of what he had been accused to be had known he was innocent, ironically. Then again, he wasn't even sure how many Death Eaters had known about Wormtail. While in Azkaban, the truth had been relayed by Bellatrix and a few other Death Eaters, the most trusted ones, whereas the lower ranked hadn't known. Malfoy had known, surely, and maybe one or two others, such as Nott or Avery, perhaps.

But finally, there he was, Sirius Black, the last heir, and now Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He could walk freely, well, almost, but no one was trying to feed him to the dementors anymore, and that was definitely an improvement, even if they couldn't have anyway since the bloody soul-sucking monsters had defected. He could look at all those who had thought him to be a monster without even knowing a thing about him, he could despise those who had thought so while knowing him. He wasn't going to hold it against them. They had had reasons to believe so. But he would take a few seconds of hatred, since it was offered to him, he would loathe them, and then he would forgive them.

So that's what he did.

For a minute Sirius appreciated the dumbfounded looks on the Leaky Cauldron's customers' faces.

And after that he let go.

Sirius had become a lot over the years.

The first Black sorted into Gryffindor ever, mind you, he had checked in the family papers. The Blacks had been Slytherins to the core, sometimes Ravenclaws, but never Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs.

A rebel, not interested in his family's ways.

A friend to a werewolf, knowingly at that.

A star student, though the professors would always deny it, since he had caused so much trouble.

A runaway teen, taken in by his best friend's parents who had given him all the love he had never been shown at home.

A betrayed older brother, who had only watched as his little brother was stolen by the dark side, and refused to save him himself, not even when the dark side had torn his brother apart.

A Black who had refused to go and be the servant of the Dark Lord.

One of the best rookies Mad-Eye Moody had had in years, by the man's very words.

A wizard hunted by his own family, but who had decided he'd rather fight them standing.

A traitor and murderer, or so they said.

The first man to ever escape Azkaban alone.

The scapegoat for the Ministry, when they had refused to see the truth.

But now? Now he was a dead man who still walked, a man who had died but denied death. He was Sirius Orion Black, the Lord of one of the most powerful wizarding families in the United Kingdom, the head of a House that all feared for its history of dark wizards and witches, and an innocent they had sent in hell without thinking twice about it.

But no. He wouldn't let anyone put him down, never again, he wouldn't let himself be defeated. He had defied Azkaban, he had challenged death, and Voldepants wouldn't make him back off.

Feeling a bit better at last, Sirius waved at Tom, the barman and owner of the Leaky Cauldron, before heading to the courtyard. Curious eyes landed on him and the two Aurors behind him, and some people gasped when they saw him taking out his wand to open the doorway.

It was the same thing as in the pub, to go through Diagon Alley. Some of the people they met on the way gasped at Sirius Black's sight, some other nodded politely at him, some looked away.

Sirius ignored most of them, but nodded back at those who were polite to him.

He decided to go to Ollivanders first.

When he walked in the narrow wand shop, he had already passed by two closed shops. Death Eaters attacks, Savage and Gulch had said. It wasn't a good sign. There weren't many people out either.

“Sirius Black. I hadn't hoped to see you again, Lord Black.”

The always terrifying voice of the wandmaker almost made the young Lord jump, but he refrained from doing so. Ollivander had always been... strange, and he had to deal with it.

“For years I haven't hoped to get out of Azkaban, and yet here I am.”

The old man had pale silver eyes. Sirius' and his met, and the two silver colored pairs of eyes looked into the other's, trying to see, beyond the mask of their faces, if there was something interesting, something worthy in the man in front of them.

Sirius didn't know why, but it had already been this way at their first encounter, when he had been eleven. Their eyes had locked onto the other's, and the young boy had seen a great mind behind the face of the not-so-old-yet man, but also something disturbing, hidden in Ollivander's eyes, something not so human, not so sane, but pure, in a way, a desire for knowledge that surpassed ethics and humanity. A tiny shred of brilliant madness, there, in the eyes of Garrick Ollivander.

Sirius wondered what the man could see in his eyes.

The wandmaker smiled a strange smile.

“Some feat if there ever was one, Lord Black, your escape from Azkaban. But may I ask what brings you in my shop? No trouble with your wand, I hope? Or maybe you need a new one?”

“Unlike most, my wand was stored instead of snapped. Aren't I lucky?”

“Oh, I know about that. The Unspeakables contacted my family about wandlore at the very beginning of their research, centuries ago. Apparently, they're salvaging dark wizards' and witches' wands, something to do with the effects of the use of the Dark Arts on the wands, and other things too, but that have not much to do with wandlore so I don't know more.”

Sirius raised a dubious eyebrow, still a bit unnerved when people talked about him as a dark wizard, voluntarily or not. He coudn't honestly deny that he had already used the Dark Arts, because he had used them, and more times than he liked to be reminded of, but he wasn't what was called a dark wizard for all that.

He handed his wand to Ollivander, who looked pleased with seeing his own work, as always.

“Ah, ebony and thestral hair, ten inches. I don't habitually use thestral hair, but when I do, the wands that are created from them always go to peculiar individuals. And in the light of the last events, I dare say that you already had an uncommon affinity with death when you came to this shop with your father in 1971...”

The old man had taken the wand in hands as he spoke, and was looking at it carefully, searching for a flaw or anything else that might warrant a visit from its owner.

“A thestral hair, yes... Rather than an affinity with death, I'd say I knew more of the true face of the world than most children do. A thestral can only be seen by one that has seen death, after all.”

Sirius winced, remembering his childhood as the heir of the House of Black. He remembered his mother, the punishments for his misbehavior, harsher than what was usually deemed necessary for a child, but not for Sirius Orion Black, the one who would carry the name of the House of Black. He remembered the inhumanity he had faced soon in his childhood.

Not that Walburga Black had ever gone too far. If she was insane, Sirius suspected that she had loved him, in her own, twisted, crazed way. At least, she had until his Sorting. After, he wasn't sure. Not that the Blacks had been unbecoming in raising their children. But there had been a coldness in the family, something that could easily twist a child's mind, as much as it could format it into that of a proper pure-blood, or, if the child was a bit more perceptive than usual, that could disgust it. Bellatrix had been twisted. Narcissa had been formatted. Andromeda and Sirius had been disgusted.

Regulus... had been somehing between formatted and disgusted, and his indecision had surely been one of the things that had caused his death.

“Anyway, what I came here for isn't to talk about my inner nature. Since I got it back, I can't use my wand properly. The spells are way too strong, and sometimes completely wide of the mark. I used a knockback jinx in the Department of Mysteries, and it blowed up the stairs when Bellatrix dodged. Yesterday night, I tried to close a door remotely, and the door almost broke down from the shock. A door in Black Manor, spelled, bewitched, enchanted and jinxed to resist onslaughts!”

A new light could be seen in the old wandmaker's eyes, as if he felt the need to assess the young Black Lord once again. His fingers brushed past Sirius' wand, checking one last time for a fault, and the light in Ollivander's eyes only became stronger.

“You are worried that there is something wrong with your wand, and not that it has been damaged.”

“Not necessarily...”

Sirius' voice was lower than before, and he trailed in his wording.

“Maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe it's not really mine anymore. I don't know, maybe it does not want to be mine anymore.”

He was really worried. Had his short yet real death lost him the wand's allegiance? Or worst, maybe the fact that this body wasn't exactly human had something to do with it. Maybe, Sirius thought bitterly, his new body wasn't really that of a wizard, as it wasn't exactly that of a human being. Yes, it could be that he wasn't meant to have a true wand, now...

The dark haired man forced himself to calm down and looked back at Ollivander, whose smile hadn't disappeared at all. Hopefully it meant something good. Hopefully.

“Have you used another wand while you couldn't access yours?”

He nodded hastily, remembering that he had had problems before using the Reciprocation curse, so it couldn't have anything to do with it. Yet, he was still worried. Was it due to Azkaban? Maybe too much time with the dementors had changed him so badly that his own wand didn't recognize him anymore?

“Yes, a discarded wand found who know where. Possible that its owner had done something bad and wanted to get rid of it, I don't know. At first, it was difficult, but in the end I managed to cast about everything as I did before, even if it wasn't mine.”

Ollivanders looked at him with his eyes wide open, as if he was a particularly interesting enigma.

The thougt struck Sirius like lightning. It was a bit silly, kind of ridiculous, but at this point he was really considering it. What if his wand felt that he had cheated on it somehow?

The wizard started when the old wandmaker burst out laughing. Well, as much as Garrick Ollivander could be imagined giggling.

“Lord Black, you used a wand which allegiance wasn't to you, and you managed to do just well with it in little time. You've become used to put much more power into your spells than what is normally necessary, and you're doing the same now that you have your wand back. Your wand, that does not oppose your will.”

Ollivander smiled broadly, and if it was a bit scary, it put relief in his customer's heart. Sirius' wand didn't have anything against him, it was only that he was trying to light a candle with fiendfyre.

“Well, Lord Black, I believe you will do incredible things, now that you got your wand back.”

 

 


	10. Heavy with memories

 

After his visit to Ollivanders, Sirius went to Gringotts, thinking absent-mindedly that he'd better watch himself when using his wand, if he didn't want to cause some incident of excessive power in his spells. Who knew, trying to change the green in gold in the manor could as well end up coloring every single thing gold. And as much as he liked a golden color here and there, he wasn't called Midas and certainly didn't want to live in a golden palace.

On his way, he didn't pay any attention to the witches oggling him, but he didn't make the effort to button up his shirt either. Some people were shocked to see him walking in broad daylight, two Aurors following him sternly, and many pure-bloods winced when they took in his clothes. The Black Lord, not even wearing a robe! The nerves of him! But the day was hot, it was the beginning of July, and Sirius looked good in anything, thank you very much.

His first steps in Gringotts after fifteen years didn't go unnoticed. The goblin who had managed the Black wealth for the past decades looked up from his desk instantly, his calculating eyes riveted on the wizard from the other side of the room. He knew very well that some pure-bloods that had been on the Death-Eaters-suspected list of the Order were eyeing him suspiciously, and he frankly didn't care. The others people in there had mixed reactions, going from fear and disgust to curiosity and sympathy. That was better than what he had known the last few years.

Once he was done reviewing the family estates, how many galleons, sickles and knuts he had, and how he wanted to cut ties with any business owned by Death Eaters, Sirius went down to get the things he had had on him when arrested, since they were always deposited in the convict's vault.

He was particularly happy to get back the pocket watch Fleamont Potter had given him on his seventeenth birthday, and he felt some warmth in a forgotten part of his heart when he took the other watch he had gotten that day, given in secret by his father, because, obviously, his mother would have objected if she had known. The Potters' was gold, the Blacks' was silver, and he loved both. The first one was a sign of acceptance in a family that wasn't his, the second one was a reminder of love from a family he had deserted.

Alone in his vault, because there was no way he'd let anyone else than a Gringotts goblin or a Black in a Black Family vault, Sirius looked around.

Vault number seven hundred and eleven. The vault he had inherited as a Black, and that his grandfather had secured after his disownment. Most of the gold in there was from his uncle Alphard...

After a long time, he decided that he wasn't going to go down to the Black vault, number eight hundred and thirty-two, in the deepest level of Gringotts, next to the Lestrange and Malfoy vaults. He didn't need anything in there, even if someday he might go and see if any of the artifacts stored could he useful. Unless he wanted to kill someone in a slow and painful way, though, he doubted it.

But Sirius stopped as he went for the door, his eyes on a book he had put away in his vault many years before. A book he couldn't let go of, but that he couldn't bring himself to look at either.

He stood there, alone, for some time, more time than necessary, more time than he thought, anyway, his eyes riveted on the black and silver cover of the book. He knew that if he took it and put it the right side up, there would be “Blacks” written on it in silver lettering. Not the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, nothing of the sort, but just “Blacks”.

In it, the pictures from days past, the rare times of happiness in his family, or the hardly more frequent times when, at least, it hadn't been so bad.

Rares pictures of Andromeda with her sisters and parents, pictures of Alphard and Sirius, of Sirius and Regulus. The pictures that had been destroyed, thrown to the fire, over the years following his Sorting. The only ones that he had managed to salvage before all the copies had been methodically wiped off the face of the Earth by Walburga Black.

He had never looked at them since his running away but still, he had kept the book for a day when the memory of this family wouldn't hurt so much anymore. His other family, the Potters and the Marauders, had been there to fill the void.

Maybe it was time?

The Marauders had been betrayed by one of their own, and another was dead with his wife, leaving behind his orphaned godson. Fleamont and Euphemia Potter were dead. And he had regained a part of his birth family. His two families were only half of what they used to be, but maybe now, he could accept both of them, seeing as they weren't as big as before.

The pictures book, left unopen for now and shrunk into his pocket, was heavy with memories.

Sirius Black left Gringotts, seemingly oblivious to the sharp, curious, doubtful, alarmed, sad, longing glances he received. The two Aurors behind him weren't so distracted as he was, and even had to stop one or two malevolent spells, while ignoring the disturbing and hungry looks many witches cast at the Black Lord.

Sirius wanted to go home, now, he swore, but somehow, it didn't happen.

Somehow, there was a loud BANG! farther away in the street.

Somehow, blacks hoods and robes, dark curses and hexes happened.

Somehow, Diagon Alley found itself under a Death Eaters attack.

Well.

Not Diagon Alley precisely.

More like, Garrick Ollivander had caught the eye of the Dark Bastard for some reason, probably because he could make wands for his supporters that had been in Azkaban during the last decade, hence Voldepants' decision to go after the old wandmaker.

A shame that the attack had to happen just the day Sirius and his two Aurors shadows were in the street, not far away from the fight.

None of them hesitated, and in seconds they were there, wand drawn, jinxing, hexing, cursing whoever had the bad fortune to be wearing black and suspicious hooded cloaks and even more dubious mask, because, really, who else than a Death Eater would wear a Death Eater costume?

Not long after that, the sound of other Aurors apparating was heard, and the fight turned to chaos. Most of the passersby had taken refuge in a shop or another, but Sirius could see the body of a mother lying on the ground, right next to Ollivanders' door. Her child, a little boy with brown hair and glasses, was crying and trembling behind a barrel.

He cursed a Death Eater to the point of bloodshed, and ran to the child, blocking dangerous curses as he did this.

“You're alright?”

The boy had another burst of crying as the wizard asked him this, but managed to nod.

“Then, don't open your eye until I come back, alright? Then it'll be okay to get out of here.”

Sirius created a quick runes shield around the boy, and turned around just in time to see a masked figure entering Ollivanders while everyone else was busy fighting for dear life. But he didn't get the opportunity to follow him, because he heard someone scream and turned again to defend her.

It was a woman's voice. More importantly, it was the voice of a woman he knew.

Eleanor Rowle, ten feet away from him, had been hurt with a nasty curse, and blood was dripping from her left arm. Seeing as she was left-handed, and couldn't lift her arm properly anymore, she was in a bit of a situation.

But curse bad humor, Sirius wasn't going to wonder why in all freaking hell she was here this exact day, at this exact time, in this exact place. The fact that the Death Eater standing next to her had his wand right at her throat was way more important.

Sirius blocked a hex that would have sent him flying otherwise and walked to the two, noticing without caring that she had a bag of potion ingredients with her, and that she stood just outside an apothecary.

His wand was pointing at the Death Eater but the incantation never left his throat, as he heard the words the bastard was spitting on the young woman.

“You've been given your chance, Eleanor, but you dismissed it. The Dark Lord is no longer comprehensive, and you will face the fate of every other blood traitor.”

At that the witch sneered at him, disgusted.

“And what, Thorfinn? Were you ordered to kill your own sister, or are you simply taking the opportunity as it is given to you? Waiting for a reward, I guess, as a good and obedient dog.”

The voice under the mask was definitely more aggressive than before when Thorfinn Rowle hissed an angered reply.

But Eleanor didn't falter. Because she never did. Not even when her brother had tried to frighten her so that she wouldn't go back to meet muggles and muggle-borns and half-bloods and squibs and blood traitors. Not even when he had first threatened her with the prospect of a Cruciatus curse in her third year, because she wasn't behaving like a proper Slytherin pureblooded girl. Not even when Thorfinn had taken the Dark Mark despite all her attempts to make him see that, at least, if she didn't hope to see him become anything other than a blood supremacist, there were other ways to obtain what he wanted, other ways to live while thinking of the pure-bloods' superiority than to exterminate all those who weren't pureblooded.

At least Eleanor had tried. And the coldness in her eyes made her brother remember why he and many others had feared her as students. She had a thing with talking, her words always pierced their souls, poking, hurting, ripping apart their beliefs, hitting right where it hurt.

But no, Thorfinn Rowle was an idiot, and his sister knew that all too well. Despite his fear, despite the unease she could create in him, he knew he had a physical advantage on her, he knew she was never going to bow to the Dark Lord, and that was enough for him to know what he had to do.

“Don't try to be smart, little sister. You'll all die anyway, all of you blood traitors, even that Black who escaped his demise the other day, even him, even when we all know how dangerous he can be. The Dark Lord will have no pity for filth like-”

“The filth is pleased to hear that you consider him dangerous. But maybe you should drop the wand, unless you wish to simply drop dead?”

The Death Eater paled and his wand was immediately pointed at the wizard who had interrupted his uttering of death threats. His eyes fell on the Black Lord who had him at wandpoint, not bothering with the hexes flying at random and that two Aurors were apparently blocking for him.

And Thorfinn Rowle shuddered.

Sirius Orion Black had grey, silverish eyes.

As cold as the metal.

He had once known a man with the same eyes. A man... well, a boy, really.

Regulus Arcturus Black, Lord Black's younger brother. Slytherin. Very... perfect. Not as wild as his Gryffindor blood traitor of a brother. But not as dangerous, too. Yes, a knack for the Dark Arts, but not prone to using them, when his older brother obviously had the same gift with dark magic, but didn't even need to bother with its worst forms to frighten.

Jinxes, hexes, curses were all forms of dark magic, but not all of them could be considered as spells belonging with the Dark Arts. A Curse of the Bogies could be dangerous if not treated, but using it certainly wasn't considered as using the Dark Arts. Even students used dark magic, and no one in their right mind would think of calling them dark wizards and witches for that.

The Dark Arts were meant to hurt permanently, to control someone to the point that their own ideals could do nothing to stop them, to inflict the worst fates upon their targets. It was there that you really needed to be willing to hurt for it to work. No one could use the Dark Arts if their soul wasn't tainted, even for a moment.

Well, either that, or being a Black. After all, there was a reason the House of Black bore that name.

But the thing with Sirius Orion Black was that, even while at school, he hadn't needed the Dark Arts, or any back up, or a political influence from his parents, who were usually happy enough to let him deal with his own gryffindorish felonies. Him being himself was enough to instil fear in his fellow students. He used dark magic, yes, like any other student, but it was much more than that.

The young Lord, heir at that time, had simply been terrifying.

He had ideas, and wasn't afraid to share them with his victims.

Ideas involving simple dark magic, sometimes magic that wasn't even dark to begin with, but if used as he suggested...

And he never used them.

But there was something in his tone, something in his eyes, that told them everything they needed to know.

If Sirius Black had wanted, he could have tortured anyone into oblivion, and yet not felt disgusted with himself, because if he had wanted it, it'd have meant that he had a damn good reason to hate his victim beyond human comprehension.

When he talked about it, they could always hear that sharp, cruel threat under the perfectly casual tone. It was there, they knew it, but they didn't know where exactly, they had no proof that he actually meant more than what he said.

And so many times, the students that had truly gotten on Black's bad side, mostly Slytherins obviously, had wondered how in hell the boy hadn't been Sorted in Slytherin.

Thorfinn Rowle rambled a curse and Black deflected it.

Black smiled, and Thorfinn Rowle felt very cold.

“I've been having a problem of overloaded spells lately. I wonder what a simple Revulsion jinx would do to a wizard's head if increased tenfold...”

And Black's wand slowly moved up to the Death Eater's face.

A scream. An order to retreat. Anti-disapparition wards going off.

Rowle disapparated.

And the street was silent.

And there were four dead on the pavement.

And Garrick Ollivander wasn't in Diagon Alley anymore.

Sirius sighed heavily, half-angry, half-relieved that he hadn't had to blow up the head of someone three days before his trial. Granted, it was a trial to prove that he wasn't a traitorous bastard, and killing a Death Eater was not something a traitorous bastard would have been likely to do, but still. Killing Rowle by blowing up his head wouldn't have looked good, even if he hadn't used anything more than easy dark magic. And well, despite what he had said to the guy, Sirius wasn't one to enjoy killing, and if he could, he tried not to. Besides, blowing up Rowle's head would have surely had some unwanted side effects, such as, being covered in blood and brain.

Definitely yuck.

Sirius looked around, checking that Eleanor was alright, and went looking for the boy, hoping that his runes wards had been efficient enough, and no one had paid the child any attention. He knew for fact that the shields he had put up were simple at best, though powerful, and if anyone had tried to destroy them and get to the child, the boy was certainly dead. Such simple wards could withstand powerful curses, but were easy to put down. If the kid had been left alone, he was surely safe.

Sirius smiled a bit when he saw the boy's shivering frame, eyes closed and ears covered with his hands, and put down the wards.

No one had paid the boy any mind.

He crouched down, and gently took the tiny hands away from the ears.

“Here, here... Everything's okay, now, you can open your eyes.”

Sirius knew very well that everything wasn't okay. The child's mother had been killed in front of her son, and the street looked half-destroyed. But at least, the boy was alive and mainly unscathed.

The kid looked up at him, stubbornly looking anywhere else than where his mother had last stood. Sirius certainly wasn't going to blame him.

“Where is your father?”

The boy's eyes were teary, and Sirius had to help him to get on his feet, but the man thought the kid was being incredibly courageous right now.

“Dad's a muggle... He's working today, and mum... mum... wanted to buy something... to... to put wards on the house... I think. She... she couldn't leave me alone in the house, and...”

“It's alright, calm down.”

The child's gaze flickered to his mother's form, and he started crying again.

Sirius didn't know what else to do, and was saved by Eleanor, who had followed him as soon as her wound had been more or less tended to. She'd still need to go to St. Mungo's, because her brother was a brute without a brain, but she certainly wasn't going to die in the hour.

The witch crouched down next to the child, and gently took him in her arms, effectively blocking his sight of his mother's body. She had a soft expression on her face, that made Sirius' heart jump in his chest, and once again he wondered why Eleanor had this effect on him.

It wasn't as if they knew each other. Or was it?

They stayed there, Sirius really feeling awkward, until some officials came to see what was happening over there. One of them looked at the Black Lord and the Daughter of the House of Rowle with a suspicious glare, but they both ignored him. Even when he snorted disdainfully as Eleanor told them she was pretty sure one of the attackers was her own brother.

The boy was reluctant to let go of her, but the young witch had to go to St. Mungo's to check her wounds, and a Ministry employee was already taking him back to his father. Whatever they would tell the widower, the shock would be hard for the muggle, Sirius knew that all too well. How many time had he been told that one of his friends or fellow members of the Order of the Phoenix had been killed in an ambush, an attack, a fight with Death Eaters? Too many times.

Sirius and Eleanor watched him go, a half-hearted smile on their lips, and soon, they were alone once again.

Or, well, as alone as on can be when they're with someone else and there are dozens of officials roaming the street to help victims, count bodies, and swear under their breath they'd make the culprits suffer one day or another.

Sirius was about to turn to Eleanor and say something, some sarcastic comment about what a poor job the decorator had done with this street, surely, but his gaze fell on the woman's injured arm, and he thought better of it.

“What did he hit you with? Cutting hex, severing charm, slashing curse?”

The various answers she could give to that question weren't all bad, nor they were all good. Depending on the exact spell that had made her bled, the gravity of the injury wasn't the same. Some possibilities wouldn't even let a scar if treated cautiously. Others... were far more dangerous, maybe even life-threatening, though Sirius doubted that Rowle knew any of the darkest spells running in the young Lord's brain at the moment. Some were Black secrets, other were simply too difficult to grasp for the idiot's intellect.

Eleanor smiled fondly at him, as if she was remembering something about the two of them that the wizard had no knowledge of.

Sirius didn't like that, but he found that he liked the witch too much to care.

Erm, appreciated the witch, not liked.

Really.

“Nothing serious, only a cutting hex. I'll go to St. Mungo's so that it won't scar, but it would have healed on its own even if I didn't.”

“Who hexed you?”

The two of them turned slightly to see an Auror walking towards them, certainly having heard their conversation. The woman nodded at her two colleagues supposed to guard / protect, choose your side, the new Lord Black, as she passed by them tending to their own wounds, before looking back at the two pure-bloods.

Rowle's slytherin-blank mask fell back on her face.

“My brother, Thorfinn Rowle. He is one of the Death Eaters who were freed from Azkaban by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in january.”

The Auror immediately sneered as she took in her two witnesses / more-like-suspects-really.

Sirius Black. Always there when Death Eaters enjoyed themselves, wasn't he? Just the name of Black should be enough to cart someone right back to Azkaban. Even if he had been innocent back then, and she seriously doubted that, he certainly wasn't anymore. His stuntish survival recked of the Dark Arts miles away! Death Eater or not, this particular Black was certainly a dark wizard. After all, one didn't need to plead allegiance to a hateful murderer to be evil too, or else He-who-Must-Not-Be-Named couldn't be called evil, since, you know, he hadn't pleaded allegiance to anyone.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, not evil? A good laugh, really.

The Lord of the House of Black, a good man? Same reaction.

And what to say about Eleanor Rowle? Accusing her own brother of attacking her, when she clearly could have hurt herself to make it look like she was a victim too.

Two pure-bloods, from families with ties to the Death Eaters all over the place, mainly unarmed on the site of a Death Eaters attack? Certainly not a coincidence, if you asked her.

“Are you sure it was him? After all, they wear masks and hooded cloaks...”

Neither Sirius nor Eleanor were deceived by her words; her tone said it all.

“I am able to recognize my brother's voice.”

Sirius wasn't as smooth.

“I'd watch my tone if I were you.”

A statement, more than anything else. Not a threat, well, nothing that could be proved to be a threat, but really, the meaning was obvious enough.

His voice, as cold and threatening as when he had talked to Eleanor's brother earlier, made the Auror shiver, and, if anything, it conforted her that guilty or innocent, Death Eater or not, the Black Lord wasn't one to cross, for the sake of her career, her peace of mind, and incidentally, her life.

Sirius, however, wasn't meaning any harm to her. His stance was relaxed, his wand in its holster, his hands visible. Still, he knew how to talk. And more importantly, he knew what to say.

Taking a step back, he observed the woman who had had the gall to accuse them, if not in words, at least in everything else. Her glances screamed “liars”.

Then, he remembered this muggle-born girl from school, whose parents had been killed during her third year, by none other than Bellatrix Black. So he let go of some of his anger.

Some, not all of it.

“Miss Fell, do you perhaps know how many attempted murders I've suffered during the first war, because I wouldn't join a cause I didn't believe in?”

The witch stiffened a bit at the reminder of a peculiar rumor she had heard as a fifth year. Someone in Gryffindor, someone that everybody knew but no one would name, had hardly escaped a Death Eaters attack during the Christmas break. Eyes had flicked for a whole week to a handsome young man whose name should have proclaimed his allegiance, and yet hadn't.

And Sirius Black hadn't cared. Where some would have tried to be invisible, when some would have boasted and told their misadventure to everyone, Sirius Black had frowned in distate. The day after that, he had come to the Great Hall with an altered school robe, no sleeves, showing the not-fully-healed-yet wounds. He hadn't seemed bothered by the blood that had dripped on his Defense against the Dark Arts essay, and no one had had the courage to ask him about the wounds.

And at the time, Hannah Fell had thought that he wasn't boasting, nor was he searching for pity, even if the Slytherins had been saying otherwise. At most, it was a challenge. Because Black hadn't been proud of his wounds, but he certainly wasn't going to be ashamed of them. Yes, he had lost a fight, but against three masked figures. Not one, nor two. Three, at seventeen years old. The added bonus was that, even if not all the Slytherins of that time had been aspirant Death Eaters, none of the students from that House had been able to look the Black heir in the eyes for two weeks. The worst of them had tried to laught at Black, but the only thing they had earned was a cold smile and the feeling that the teenager belonged as much in Slytherin as in Gryffindor, that he was a Black, one of the purest pure-bloods, and a terrifying duelist.

Black, during the time his wounds had taken to heal, hadn't seemed bothered by them. No one doubted him to be in pain, but it never had showed on his face. His life at school hadn't changed at all. It was as if the wounds weren't his, but everyone else's, especially the Slytherins'.

The Auror refrained from gulping at the memory. Maybe Black had given in one day, it wouldn't have been surprising given the amount of effort the Death eaters had displayed to either dispose of him or get him on their side. But what was more striking, was that if one attack had been known in school, how many had happened that none of the students had known about?

Seeing as the witch wasn't likely to answer his question, Sirius anwered it for her.

“When one has immediate family amonsgt the Death Eaters, one is to be given up to three chances to join before the hunt begins, depending on the witch's or wizard's skills, blood purity, utility in society, and number of relatives already in the ranks. I was given three chances.”

Hannah Fell wasn't surprised by that. Everybody knew that while in school, the biggest flaws that had kept the Slytherins away from Black had been his disregard of blood-purity, his neutrality towards half-humans, and, of course, his being a Gryffindor.

Okay, right, maybe she was a bit biased towards the young Lord.

Everything from his past screamed “innocent”. But still, everything from Halloween 1981 screamed “guilty”. So maybe, just maybe, she could try to ignore her immediate distate.

“I reckon that Eleanor, given who her brother is, given the probability of two other persons with the name of Rowle being amongst Voldepants' ranks, has been given two chances. I don't know anything about Eleanor's skills, nor do I know her Hogwarts House, so I haven't taken it into account, but either way, even if most Death Eaters are Slytherins, they are also a few persons from other Houses, and yes, even from Gryffindor...”

A quick look of hatred took over Sirius' features as he said this, and none of the witches knew what to make of it. Gryffindor was the man's House, they all knew it, but apart from the accusations on him, only two other known Death Eaters had been in the House of the Lion.

No one commented on the derogative name Black had used, but a few people turned to look their way, looking slightly frightened. Black was so going to suffer for that...

Apart from that, one thing he said struck Eleanor hard.

“You didn't know? I am a Slytherin.”

Despite her surprised tone, the young woman was more hurt than anything else.

He didn't remember her at all, did he?

Sirius froze instantly.

He certainly hadn't expected that.

Calming himself as efficiently as he could, he looked back at the young woman standing next to him, and forced himself to remember that, as he had just said, being evil did not go with being in Slytherin. And now that he thought about it, it was true that Eleanor Rowle had something a bit slytherin in her ways, though he hadn't noticed before because, as far as he knew, she was also as noble as a Gryffindor, as clever as a Ravenclaw, and as gentle as a Hufflepuff.

“Really? Strange, I thought I knew you from somewhere... But I didn't exactly associate with any snake, so I must be wrong...”

As he trailed on the end of the sentence, Eleanor wasn't sure she was happy with the fact that actually, he remembered her, though faintly, or angry that he obviously hated anything to do with her House.

Berating himself that even if he had told no one about that, he too was half-lion half-snake, Sirius discarded his prejudices for the time being, and went back to berating Fell instead. Still, he had a feeling he wasn't so subtle as he'd like about his feelings on Slytherin, as he was clearly avoiding to look at the Rowle girl.

“Anyway, I take it her chances have run out, and now they want her hide. They did the same with me. Threats, some frights, but nothing serious until the third time I turned them down, and then, all-out war. Myself, I suffered eight real attacks between 1978 and 1979, which only ceased because after that, I was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, so anyway, they wanted me dead.”

Yeah, right, because that's absolutely normal, Hannah Fell thought. Whether Black was a liar, or only a nutter, she didn't know, but no one was supposed to talk so indifferently about their life being in danger. Then again, normal people hadn't spent twelve years in Azkaban with dementors.

The Auror looked back at Eleanor Rowle, asking if the witch had anything to say on the matter.

Eleanor sighed, knowing she'd have to say it anyway.

“As Lord Black guessed, I have been offered two chances. One when Thorfinn escaped from Azkaban, the other when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return was made public. I knew it was the last one, and I still refused. Thorfinn was always an idiot, now he's a maddened idiot. I wouldn't put it past him to have begged for the right to finish me off himself.”

Once again, the Auror wondered what the hell was wrong with pure-bloods. They all talked about being on a hit list so offhandedly... Or, well, at least, Slytherins did, since they all looked like they had no feelings. Which was strange, since Sirius Black had been a Gryffindor.

Maybe he was simply mad.

Yes, that had to be it.

Sirius Black had finally gone bonkers.

The Auror asked them one or two other questions, a bit divided as to what she believed about the two pure-bloods. Then Sirius apparated Savage, Gulch and Eleanor near the entrance of St. Mungo's, but this time he hadn't done his usual surprise side-along apparition, out of concern for their wounds. Savage glanced at the Rowle girl as she thought that it might be nice to have her around in these cases, since no matter what Black claimed, it had more to do with her wounds than with theirs.

They walked to the old and unused shop where was hidden the magical hospital. Black, with a grand gesture, bowed down and waved to the abandoned department store.

“Here you are, Miss.”

The humor in Black's voice was obvious, and the Rowle girl simply shook her head a bit, apparently used to much more antics.

Sirius, finally thinking about the two Aurors behind them, asked them if they had any grave injury. Gulch said that no, but Savage looked away suspiciously, tugging at his right arm. Frowning sternly at the wizard, Sirius made them all go inside.

Same deal as ever, gasping and trembling and whispering as the people in St. Mungo's recognized him, and as ever, the young Lord ignored most of it. As soon as they had walked away from the entrance, Sirius turned to the Auror once again.

“What is it, Savage?”

“Nothing, really. I was only hit by a spell on the arm, nothing much, I tell you. It just stings a bit.”

Sirius sighed deeply before he put on his no-nonsense face.

“And you know what spell it was?”

Savage looked away, and Gulch looked at him astonished. Why had this idiot hidden that, exactly? He should have known that even an apparently inoffensive spell could very well be dark enough to kill slowly an unsuspecting wizard.

Sirius wasn't impressed, to say the least, and he wondered who they had put in charge of the Auror training when Moody had retired, because he really needed to talk with them about the trainees' awareness to danger.

“Do you even know what it was, a hex, a jinx, a curse?”

As the Auror still said nothing, Sirius grew exasperated, seized the man's arm and pulled up the sleeve. After all, the worst that could happen was that the Black Lord would save the wizard's life. Or that Savage had a shameful tatoo on that arm. And no, he wasn't thinking of a Dark Mark, which was always on the left forearm, not the right one. What Sirius had in mind was much more entertaining, and no one could ever accuse him of not being a Marauder anymore, he thought with bittersweet joy and some pride too.

When he saw the suspicious yellow the skin had turned into, he winced a bit and looked at the Auror with a disapproving glare.

“'Nothing much, I tell you'? You know you could lose your arm if nothing is done before tomorrow morning, don't you? No? Well, now, you do. Go and search for a Healer, and then say that you've been hit with a decaying curse, you'll see their face blanch in horror and them hauling you off to the fourth floor. And no, I'm not doing this to get rid of you, but to save your life. Now, off you go.”

Eleanor, Gulch and Savage looked at him wide-eyed, and didn't do anything, standing there like idiots. In the end, Sirius had to make a sign to a passing Healer and force the Auror to repeat what he had just said. Insurprisingly, the Healer reacted just as Sirius had said he would, only checking on said injury before hauling Savage off to the fourth floor.

Turning to Eleanor, the Black Lord suggested she'd better go get her own wound checked.

Finaly, he turned to Gulch, the remaining Auror.

“Maybe you could send a patronus to your oh so lovely boss so that he sends someone else to replace the idiot. Look, I sit right here, and I won't move until your reinforcement arrive.”

So he did, and the witch, still observing him warily, did as he had said. A very cute but definitely over-sized silver rabbit left for the Auror Office, and soon enough a silver tiger responded that a Marcus Flume would take over Savage's duties. Strangely, the tiger sounded really grumpy, and Sirius worried that he had earned himself another killjoy after Bitterish Dawlish. Maybe he'd have better let Savage to his fate a bit longer?

After ten minutes, a wizard presented himself as Lord Rowle, and Sirius was on his feet in a wink, though he had managed to do that while looking perfectly bored and in no hurry to be polite. They greeted each other a bit stiffly, as the Rowles had always been political allies of the Blacks and Sirius wasn't going to trust anyone falling into that category as far as he could throw them this easily. The House of Black had a very particular reputation, and anyone in business with them could be considered at least a bit shady.

And there was also the fact that most of the Sons and Daughters of the House of Black had gone to Slytherin. Yes, Sirius was trying not to be too prejudiced about that, but still, statistics weren't in the Slytherins' favor...

They discussed the day's incident, as Theodore Rowle had only been informed that his niece had been injured in a Death Eaters attack, and when Eleanor came back, all patched up, the two wizards were on speaking terms. Seeing their grave faces, the witch raised an eyebrow.

“Did I miss something important?”

Theodore restrained his anger well enough to be able to smile at his niece, but his smile was freezing on his face, visibly forced.

Lord Rowle looked at the Black Lord and at the Auror before stating that he'd have to take an appointment with one of the _Daily Prophet_ 's journalists.

“Your brother's acts have warranted a punishment, and not only on the legal side. Being a Death Eater isn't enough of a shame, apparently, since he started threatening his own family.

“And what exactly do you plan to do, uncle?”

The Rowle Lord almost snarled his answer, and Sirius looked at the middle-aged man in suprise and approval at the same time. If this was the Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Rowle, he'd be more than happy to have business with him.

“As of now, Thorfinn Rowle is a Son of the House of Rowle by name only. He won't inherit anything, and the family won't help him to get out of the dragon dung he got himself in if he is ever caught. None of the family members is obligated to come to his help, though I won't force you to leave him to die under the porch if he comes home agonizing. His children, if he ever has any, will be members of the House of Rowle despite their father's failure.”

It was more or less the opposite of what had happened to Sirius, who had been cast away as his parents' son, but not as a family member. Thorfinn Rowle wasn't a family member anymore, though he still was his parents' child.

Eleanor shrugged at the news, even if she was a bit sad. Thorfinn was her brother, after all, but she had tried to make him see the light, and he had outright declined. His fault, then.

They talked a bit longer, the two Rowles and the Black, but Sirius began to notice people looking at them oddly. When he gathered that more than half the audience was made of witches, he remembered what Remus had told him about the current gossip on the possible relationship between “Lord Black” the handsome and incredible and Eleanor the beautiful Daughter of the House of Rowle who intrigued many persons. He politely excused himself and went to wait for Marcus Flume somewhere else with Gulch.

Half an hour later, a greying yet still young wizard came in St. Mungo's, and Gulch waved for him to join them. The presentations were quick, and Sirius' mood brightened quickly when he heard that the man was the owner of Honeydukes' grandson. Two Chocolate Frogs and and another sweet that Sirius didn't recognize later, all of them went back to Black Manor, but not without being yelled at by an elderly witch about eating in a hospital.

It turned out that Marcus Flume was nothing like a killjoy, while the new head of the Auror Office was driving everybody crazy back there, and Flume was really grateful for Savage's injury that had permitted him to get out of the hellhole early.

Now, Sirius had met all the Aurors assigned to his protection / surveillance, and besides Dawlish who was an arse anyway, he mused he could have been worst off.

If only he could shake off the disturbing feeling he had about Eleanor, the day would go well.

 

 


	11. Bloody Blacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A family reunion of some sort, because I always wanted Sirius to settle things with his family, and (un)fortunately most of them are dead.

This was the second morning Sirius Black woke up in the master bedroom of Black Manor. Not that he'd complain about it. Really, he liked the place, though it felt a bit strange to sleep in his grandfather's room. A bit less green, a bit more gold, and the place would be perfect. But that'd have to wait, because he had a trial to attend, figure, his trial to attend, two days from this fine sunday. So, obviously, changing the color of the ceiling would have to wait.

Even more so considering that Sirius didn't want to hire a lawyer to defend him.

The wizard had his reasons for that, of course.

The first one being, that he wasn't about to trust just anybody because they had a wizarding law degree, not after what mistrust had done to him over the years. They wouldn't trust him? He wouldn't trust them.

There was also the fact that when the date for his trial had been decided, it had been only five days prior to said date. Sirius doubted any sane lawyer would have taken a case such as his to defend with only five days to sort things out.

Dismissing the hundreds of other reasons, the black-haired man decided he wouldn't open his eyes a second time right now, because when he had seconds before, the sight that had met his eyes had been rather disturbing, and he didn't want to be disturbed for the time being.

Obviously, Sirius couldn't know beforehand how the trial would go, but he was fairly certain that it'd go his way, though not without some struggle at first.

Oh, another reason why any sane lawyer would never have accepted his case, was certainly that the young Lord of the House of Black had had... ideas and arguments no sane lawyer would present to a court even if he had bribed everyone earlier.

Everyone said that the insane ones in the Black Family had been Walburga and Bellatrix Black. Well, for some time, they had said the same of him, but that was only because they had thought him to be guilty. Now, he had been taken off the insane-Blacks-list, even by those who still believed him guilty, since he had shown everyone that he wasn't crazy. Little did they know.

Maybe he wasn't mad as Bella or his mother. Surely he wasn't mad like Bella and his mother. But saying that Sirius Orion Black was sane was a bit ludicrous. There were only two things that didn't make him look like a nutter: his cleverness, and his being aware that he wasn't thinking exactly like the other people out there. After all, being insane wasn't a problem, as long as you knew it. Everyone said that Dumbledore himself was a bit of a madman, but that he still knew what he was doing, and that was all that mattered. Anyway, normal people were boring, and entirely sane people didn't exist. There were only different levels of madness.

So, Sirius was a bit insane, and he knew it.

Because, really, if wednesday he did what he intended to do, and there was no doubt in his mind that he'd do it, he couldn't be anything else than mad.

Walburga Black had never acknowledged her insanity, and it had only become worst because of that. Bellatrix Black had been lured to the edges of her sanity by Voldepants' teaching and ideals, and when she had become Bellatrix Lestrange, the balance between sanity and insanity in her had broken. Sirius Black walked on the border of those two realms.

Speaking of Bella...

The wizard opened a wary silver eye, glancing at the edge of his bed.

“You're freaking me out, you know?”

A ghostly and way-too-suspicious smile invaded the face of a woman who looked a lot like him, even if her jaw was a bit stronger than his, her hair was curly and her eyelids were heavy. Oh, and there was also the fact that she was translucent and very grey.

“ _Aw, cousin, but this room is the only one I can roam about freely, since you took in two Aurors and we agreed it wouldn't go well if they saw me...”_

“Still, that doesn't explain why you're watching me sleeping as if I was something very cute and small and adorable.”

The ghost of the Black witch gave him a genial smile that was completely out of character.

“ _But, Sirius, you and Regulus were my baby cousins. Can't I appreciate the fact that we're once again on speaking terms? Last time was in the early seventies, if I recall...”_

Sirius gave in to his new habit of throwing pillows through the ghost in annoyance.

“Not my fault you decided that me being in Gryffindor meant that I was a disgrace for the family...”

His mumbling was lost as he got up and began to dress, feeling awkward as Bella just looked at the show.

“And I'm not there for your entertainment, Bella!!!”

The ghost hovered away chuckling, surely going for a walk, sorry, a flight, around the property.

Sirius was about to go downstairs, but a black owl came tapping at the bay windows.

Even if they weren't the only wizards in Great Britain using black owls, it was most likely that the letter at the owl's leg came from a family member. Seeing as Andromeda and Narcissa were his closest living relatives, it certainly came from one of the two women. Sure, he had one or two distant cousins, more like, twenty or thirty of them, actually, but none of them bore the name of Black nor were members of the House of Black. They had no reason to contact him.

Not yet, anyway. After his acquittal, they would have more than one reason to do so, since most of them were from other Noble and Ancient Houses.

Andromeda was more likely the sender, because even if Narcissa was obviously in dire straits due to Lucius' exposure, they still were on opposite sides of the war. Getting his protection would mean negating her support of the Dark Bastard, and for that, she'd still need to get him to soften to her situation. After all, she had been one of those who hadn't been too unhappy with his disownment.

Sirius' feeling proved to be accurate, as his eyes looked first for the signature at the end of the letter.

_Dear Sirius,_

_We haven't been able to see each other since it came to my knowing that you were innocent of everything, and I deeply regret that. Nymphadora told me you had trouble adjusting back to a life of freedom, but I guess your confinement in an abandoned Grimmauld Place had something to do with that. I hope once you'll be cleared, you'll accept to meet me in person, but I won't take more of your time, seeing as your trial is coming so soon._

_Yours, Andromeda Tonks._

The Black Lord smiled at the certainty she had of his acquittal. Andromeda was clever as ever, and knew not only of his innocence, but also of his communication skills. If he wanted to, Sirius could lead a conversation as well as any pureblooded Slytherin. Usually, he didn't care, but with his freedom on the line...

For a moment he wondered how she had taken the news of his accusation, fifteen years prior. But he could guess that as many of his former friends, Andromeda had ended up convincing herself that he had been guilty. Remus had, everyone had.

The evidence had simply been too much, and too many people had turned traitors during the war. Trust could not be given away easily, having been wronged too many times. Remus as a werewolf, Andromeda as a Black, would have been in the crossfire if they had tried to defend him based only on their trust of his personality. And even their trust had been tested, they had told him themselves, and he couldn't deny that he hadn't always been the picture of innocence.

Andromeda had known him since he had been a child, she had seen him grow up and gain the skills of the Blacks in every field. Even if he didn't agree with the family's views, he had the capacities that went with been a Black. Talking. Lying. Doing whatever was needed. And finally, the legendary ease in the use of the Dark Arts.

Remus had seen him in his worst moments at Hogwarts, and that meant something. Their fifth year and the Whomping Willow incident had had rather unpleasant consequences... And anyway, everybody had been suspicious of everyone in the end of the war. After all, Sirius had suspected Remus, so it was only fair game that the opposite had been true too. James betraying himself to Voldemort had been obviously ludicrous, and Peter being a traitor had simply not been something they had thought of, because Peter was afraid of his own shadow and would have probably wet himself if he had ever met the Dark Lord. So it had had to be either Remus or Sirius, and each had suspected the other. Because Voldemort actually offered a better life for the werewolves, though it had certainly been a lie, because Remus had been spending time infiltrating Greyback's werewolves, even if for the Order, because when one talk to someone else long enough, a brainwashing can happen. Because most of Sirius' family was on the other side, and despite everything, Sirius loved them, even if he could have knowingly killed them in battle, because Sirius' baby brother had been over there, because Sirius was incredible at occlumency, because Sirius could use any Unforgivable without even trying.

So no, Sirius wasn't resentful. Not for that. Not to those people who had known him, and had seen the worst he could become.

For a time, he had hated those who hadn't known him, and still had said him to be a monster, without knowing anything about him. Those who should have uncovered the truth, and freed him because he was innocent. Those who had refused to listen to him when they had had the posibility to do so, and instead had thought it better to condemn him to be Kissed.

Everyone, according to what he had heard, everyone he had known had felt bad about what had happened to him. Be it because they couldn't believe him to be a Death Eater, be it because they couldn't believe they had trusted him, they hadn't felt well or happy seeing him off to Azkaban. The Aurors and trainees at the Office had been dumbfounded, some devastated, others betrayed, but none of them had felt victorious over his fall as they had over any other Death Eater's. His friends, well, the few of them that were left, Remus, Alice and Frank, had simply not understood, and had stood there, when they had heard the news, wondering when the nightmare would come to an end. The members of the Order of the Phoenix had generally been destroyed by the news, because they had finally found a Black who followed the path of equality and justice, only to find out that he had betrayed them worse than they could have ever guessed, because they had gotten past the surname only to put their trust in someone not worthy of it.

No one had been happy, no one had thought his punishment to be deserved and let it at that. Certainly, some had been furious, some had been crying, some hadn't understood, some had been the three at the same time, they had loathed him, they had wished him the worst fate Azkaban could deliver. But never they had acted as if he hadn't been one of them at some point, in some way.

As for justice, even if Crouch had allowed to send Death Eaters straight to Azkaban during the war, every single one of the accused had been given a trial in the months following Voldemort's fall. Innocents and culprits alike had been released, because there was not enough evidences, in the case of the innocents, because they had bribed someone or because the proofs weren't strong enough, for the Death Eaters, because they had solf off others, as Karkaroff had done.

But one person, one innocent that none doubted to be guilty, had never had a trial, since his guilt had been so obvious. His name had been Sirius Orion Black, and Sirius would never forget he hadn't even been given the rights scums like Macnair or Goyle had gotten.

And then there was Snape.

Sirius and Snape had never liked each other, but for the five first years at Hogwarts, Snape had merely detested him while he had loathed James. After that time when Sirius had almost murdered the Slytherin, though that obviously hadn't been his intention, the only Griffindor ever in the House of Black had taken James' place in Snape's hatred.

That, Sirius could understand. After all, he had almost fed Snape to a werewolf. So the Gryffindor hadn't liked the Slytherin better, but he had never held that particular reason of hate against Snape. Gryffindor, Black, rich, pure-blood, handsome, brilliant in everything without actually working much, perfect in so many ways, even for the Slytherins, except that he was in the instinctively hated House and didn't share the purity opinion that was more than half of the snakes', Sirius was the natural ennemy of someone like Snape. The worst being, that he could outdo any Slytherin in a Dark Arts duel if it came to that. He was the anomaly, the snake in the lions' house, the lion in a family of snakes, the one who wasn't where he belonged according to some, and yet who wouldn't fit where he should have been, because while believing in blood purity wasn't needed to be Sorted in Slytherin, it was almost mandatory to get along with the Slytherins.

So Sirius knew that Snape hated him from the bottom of his heart, and himself wasn't far behind to return the favor. If he'd have liked it better if Snape had listened to him, two years ago, he understood why the man hadn't.

No, the problem was Fudge, who had never listened, not even once, to his side of the story, and had wanted him Kissed. Not listening and letting him rot in Azkaban, Sirius could understand. But for something as serious as a dementor's Kiss?

Sirius tried to think about something else. He didn't exactly fear dememtors, not after having spent twelve years with them, but he didn't like them either. No one did, after all. That he had almost been Kissed wasn't something he wanted to think about.

The wizard wrote a short but warm reply to his cousin, then he started another letter for Remus, because he couldn't get Eleanor Rowle out of his head and that bothered him a lot. He was about to write a letter to Snape about truth serums, but inwardly cringed each time he tried to come up with some greeting formula that wasn't completely unpleasant. He might not hate the potion master as much as he had hated him as a student, but being polite to the man was a bit much even now.

So Sirius decided to raid the Black library in search of all authorized truth serums during trials, just to see if some could perhaps be what he was looking for, before going to Snivellus and see if he could get some.

Of course, he couldn't do anything like that and let the Aurors know about it, since Snape was a suspected Death Eater for the Ministry, and certainly not his ally as far as the other hooded bastards were concerned. If the word got out that Sirius Black had been meeting Severus Snape before his trial... It'd be a problem for both of them, and Snape's position as a spy was too important to be lost.

He was so lucky to have a fireplace in his study, a study in which he had allowed no one else than himself to come.

Well, no one else except Bella, because strangely, the ghost seemed to be magically considered as a part of him, and that freaked him out just a little, but shush, no one should know about that.

Sirius left the library a bit frustrated. Research had always been Moony's thing, not his, but well, he wasn't as reluctant to do it as James had been, so it was better than nothing. Actually, he could spend hours reading if he had a good reason to do so. Clearly, studying had never been one of those reasons.

He had automatically put aside all the Dark Arts related books, because even if he was sure he could find some potent truth potions in there, those would never be accepted to be taken in court, seeing as there was always at least one forbidden ingredient in them, and their effects were not known enough to be trusted. Apart from those illegal serums, he had found one or two other possibilities, but each of them was not strong enough to hold any valor if used in court. No one ignored his occlumency skills, after all he had made a show of them in his fifth year, and if even veritaserum could be partially countered with occlumency, no one would trust his words not to be twisted so that he'd technically say the truth, only, not the whole truth. And anyway, he was against veritaserum. The potion was the strongest truth serum known, but it not only forced someone to speak the truth, it also forced them to answer anything asked. There were things the Black Lord would not reveal, not about himself, but about the Order, about Harry...

In the end, Sirius had found something that could do, only, he had to go to the Ministry and see if they'd accept the use of the potion, always under the caution that no potion can be unerring, of course. The thing with sinemendacium was that brewing it could be done very quickly, a good thing for him, but it only lasted for one day, and one of the ingredients was just this difficult to find.

A good thing, really, that the Blacks had the most uncommon animals on their property.

Once Gulch and Flume had left, leaving behind a John Dawlish particularly angry to be back in Black Manor and a Julius Moody really eager to know what had exactly happened to Savage the day before, the Black Lord successfully disappeared from sight to insure without any spy watching the security and restricted access to the manor.

The illusory wall under the large stairs leading to the first floor did the job well enough, and Sirius could see the surprised look on the Aurors' faces when they realized he was nowhere to be seen. The Black Lord smirked a bit, and turned to face the very real wall separating the entrance hall and the sitting room. He delineated an invisible rune on the cold stone, and looked at the floor next to him.

There was the sole entrance to the hidden basement of Black Manor. Even from the wine cellar, the place couldn't be entered, even though the two rooms were adjacent.

The polished stones of the floor were sliding into each other, revealing a spiral staircase with a silver banister. Sirius cast a lumos and began to go down.

He had rarely been down there. Only the Lord had access, usually, but the most important and most secret family reunions were held in the Black Manor basement, were no one could come uninvited. Even the house elves couldn't come here.

That had particularly unnerved his mother when his grandfather had called him for the reunions even after his disownment, but what could she do about it? After all, Arcturus had been the Lord back then, and Sirius was second in line after his father as a heir.

He passed three ominous doors he knew to give access to rooms in which the Blacks had stored their most illegal possessions, and finally set foot in a large and long room, twice the size of the dining room actually. In the middle of the room was the biggest table he had ever seen after Great Hall of Hogwarts'. The room was dimly lit with the lumos, and Sirius let out a light orb to take care of that. He was going to need his wand, and anyway, he didn't fancy staying with his arm stretched in front of him because he couldn't see a thing. The light orb gained in intensity, and after a short minute, most of the room was visible. And of course, whispers came from the walls.

Sirius winced at that. He had forgotten they were here, and surely, it would be unpleasant.

His eyes wandered on the a giant mural painting.

It covered the two walls on his right and left, and held the whole Black Family, even those that had never had their portrait done, even those who had married into the family, even those who had been disowned. All the Blacks who had passed away, centuries and centuries of Blacks, there, staring at him, staring at the newest Black Lord with the patronizing curiosity of people who were unaffected by everything, because they were from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, because they were dead and no one could destroy these paintings, so no one could do anything to them.

Great. He wasn't eager to see dear mother and father anytime soon, but apparently, he'd have no choice. As always. Bloody Blacks.

“Sirius.”

The voice froze all his thoughts.

The young Lord turned to his left to look at the man who had walked across the painting, from the other side of the room, to talk to him.

It was a man he had known little, always busy with things to do for the Ministry, against the Ministry, for the family, against some family members. A man with black ink hair and a pale complexion, but who looked much younger than he had ever seen him. It wasn't surprising. Those weren't portraits. It had to do with charms, blood magic, potions and a couple of other fields. Arcturus Black certainly felt in the mood to be young this day, and if Sirius came back tomorrow, he could as well look seventy again, or even eleven.

The other Blacks, older, more ancient, moved away a bit to let the previous Lord talk with his heir.

“Grandfather. How uncanny to see you even after your death.”

Sirius had his tone under control, and nothing could be read on his face other than what he wanted to be seen, but his heart was racing so fast he had a feeling it'd jump out of his chest the first chance it would get.

Not that Sirius didn't like his grandfather. But there were hundreds of people, all from their family, all with one or more Black features on their faces, all these faces, all these people, their ancestors, their blood, they were all there, watching the two Lords of the house of Black, interested in what had become of their family after five years of silence, since Arcturus' last hour as a living being, and his first hour in the painting. Those who had portraits outside had become particularly frustrated when the Lord's death had shut down their access to the rest of the wizarding world.

“Don't be daft, Sirius. You knew very well we'd be there when you came in.”

This wasn't Arcturus' voice, and Sirius knew very well whose voice it was.

The young Lord forced his face to turn into something akin to a smile and looked at the figure that had followed his grandfather from the other side of the room.

Well, at least she looked way better than at Grimmauld Place. Once he'd have opened the Manor, her portrait and the painting would connect again and luckily her portrait'd be a bit more pleasant next time he'd go there. Maybe. Though he doubted it. She'd be less crazy, since the painting here had taken her normal personality into account, and not the demented version of her later years, but she wouldn't be pleasant. Less vocal, maybe. Better than nothing.

“Dear mother, how unpleasant to see you even after your death... Just so you know, your London portrait is becoming battier by the day.”

Walburga Black's painting frowned in distate, but said nothing, and they left the insults contest there, even if the older paintings were looking at them in surprise.

“Sirius, we all know you were in Azkaban with a life sentence. What are you doing here?”

The young Lord waved the question away and walked to the back of the room, where an empty stone basin with silver runes carved in it stood alone facing the curve in the wall, since the room ended with a semicircle. Some figures joined him there, looking at him with interest, or disgust for his mother, or even some fondness in his father who still hadn't spoken a word.

“I'll have to talk to some of you, but later. For now, I have wards and floo connections and a lot of other things to attend to...”

He reached for his dagger, yes, a dagger, because he was a bit paranoid and even though he was a wizard, having a dagger with him at all times could always come in handy. There had been a time in Knockturn Alley, and no, he wouldn't tell what an Auror in training could possibly be doing in Knockturn Alley during his free time, when he had escaped death only thanks to this particular dagger... that he had just brought, actually. Anyway. He had found it in his old room in the manor, certainly from his last visit, the last family reunion, in October 1980...

Sirius' fingers went back and forth on the silver blade, remembering how the weapon had caught his eye in Borgin & Burkes during a patrol with Mad-Eye. He had said nothing at the time, but the Black crest on the dagger hadn't left his mind... Maybe he did care about family heirlooms, after all.

“But that's mine?!”

The distateful voice coming from the painting, once again, could only be one man's. Sirius had heard it too many times, since Phineas Nigellus always took the opportunity to tell him how much of a disgrace he was to the family each time Dumbledore had called him to his office, most likely for misbehavior.

The young Lord looked up and stared at the old headmaster, who looked a bit too much like him as he had taken a younger appearance than in his portraits.

“Phineas... Before you ask, yes, you can babble everything you see here to Dumbledore if he wants you to tell him. I know you love to cackle on me, don't deny it. And if that's your dagger, please tell me why the hell I found it in Borgin & Burkes more than fifteen years ago?”

Phineas promptly shut up and backed away in the scenery, muttering about financial struggles.

Sirius sighed, eyeing warily the mural painting.

If every relative tried to talk to him for a reason or another, he'd never be done with it.

Seeing that no one dared to interrupt the current Black Lord, after all, even the previous Lords were only paintings, they weren't really there, they were some kind of a reminder of themselves, and nothing more, Sirius shook his head in disbelief and extended his arm above the basin. He could understand that five years trapped down here with no light and the company of Blacks only could be difficult to bear, but still, did they really need to be so nosey just now?

The young wizard put the dagger on his forearm.

And he pressed the blade on the pale skin, feeling the bite of cold metal on and in his flesh, the slow flow of warm blood dripping in the basin. The silver runes on the black stones shone with a reddish glint, and he watched, as the basin drank his blood to the last drop.

Another Lord for the House of Black.

The Black blood had opened the manor to the Lord, and the Black blood would give the control of the property to the Lord. The Black blood of the Lord had given a new life to Black Manor, and the Black blood of the Lord had strengthened the wards once again.

Another generation to the House of Black.

Sirius healed the long cut on his arm and cleared up the blood.

Then he turned around and his eyes fell on the long and dark stone table before him. Millions of silver runes could now be seen, only by him, the Black Lord, of course. He had access to the manor's protections.

The first thing he did was to renew the wards allowing entry only to those who were part of the House of Black, thus allowing Andromeda, Ted, Dora and Narcissa to come in, even if the latter had married a Death Eater. They were family, after all, and with Lucius in jail, Narcissa might want to think back on her allegiance. However, he kept the privilege of inviting someone in to himself.

Sirius then allowed in most of the members of the Order though not all of them, as well as the children and Harry. He didn't register the four Aurors' names, because he wasn't going to trust the Ministry anytime soon, and he felt better knowing they had to be invited in each time they'd come.

The floo connections were more complicated to deal with, as he had to set different parameters for partial transportation and actual travel.

The moment Sirius let the paintings' lock open, several figures disappeared from the wall, certainly gone to visit their portraits and get up to date. It would cause mayhem amongst the portraits for a while, because those had continued having a mind of their own even with their ties to the mural painting severed.

Hopefully, he thought once again, hopefully it would change his mother's portraits back to sanity... And luckily, Walburga'd be so ashamed of her portrait's mad ravings she'd shut up for a time. Of course, she'd still be a firm believer in blood purity and filth, but screaming as the mad portrait did was nowhere near a Black's correct behavior.

Sirius was wondering if he could somehow add a ward that'd set any bearer of the Dark Mark on fire when a tiny star wandered under his nose. He blinked, wondering once more what else he might have forgotten about the secret basement. Then a diffuse light that wasn't coming from the light orb caught his attention, and he looked at the ceiling.

That, he was certain he hadn't forgotten.

That, he had never seen before.

Sirius hadn't noticed before, in the light from the orb, and his mind set on the wards, but hundreds of what looked like minuscule stars had appeared in the room, hovering above his head. The young Lord, bemused, turned off the light orb and watched the dance of lights. It was beautiful, and when he reached to catch one, a warm feeling touched his palm, while a shy red light glowered out of his closed hand.

“A red dwarf...”

“That, youngster, is what is left of our lives.”

Surprised, Sirius turned to the figure of a middle-aged Black witch, not that the age meant anything here. She had red hair and a dark complexion, and she didn't look much like a Black, to say the truth, but she had the same eyes as him, the silver eyes known to the Blacks.

Sirius let go of the star, that wandered back to the ceiling.

“Hyades Black, isn't it?”

The woman smiled slightly, apparently pleased. Even if Sirius had made a point to be different from his family, he hadn't wished to lose his family history. And Hyades Black had never been someone whose life had disgusted him. She had been a decent witch in the seventeenth century, a powerful, dangerous witch, a Black woman, certainly, but never a blood purity extremist.

“You learned well, despite what your mother claimed all those years.”

Sirius winced and rolled his eyes.

“We never had the best relationship...”

Hyades Black smiled a bit more, obviously aware of the bad blood between the son and the mother. She had listened to Walburga Black once or twice in the last years, and the woman had certainly the Black madness, while Sirius Black shared none of his mother's views. Both of them had strong personalities, so it wasn't a surprise they hadn't been fond of each other...

The painting turned back her attention to the stars hovering in the room.

“One for each of us... Those lights are nothing else than for decoration, I admit, but it's pretty enough. Arcturus never displayed them during your time's family reunions, because you mother kept on saying how pointless and distracting they were.”

“And I still do exactly that.”

Sirius sighed at the interruption, and looked at his mother, who had finally come back from Grimmauld Place. He wouldn't have minded if she had stayed there a little longer.

Hyades respectfully backed away and let the witch talk, but it might have more to do with not wanting to be in the middle of a Black tempers fight.

Several other paintings did just the same, and Sirius saw his father sighing in exasperation.

“Now, Sirius, would you mind explaining why you let half-bloods and mudbloods and even half-breeds in our London family home?”

The young man thought it was still better than having her screaming insults at whoever passed by as her old portrait had done, but he wasn't looking forward to this discussion nonetheless. Leaving Grimmauld Place at sixteen had also been due his imbearable mother, after all.

Some figures let out outraged cries here and there on the wall, but were rapidly silenced by the others, who, if they didn't always like wizards and witches who weren't pureblooded, weren't as narrow-minded either.

“They are my friends, mother, and I can invite whoever I feel like. I don't need your authorization anymore, and I don't fear your tantrums either. You can't tell me what I can do.”

Walburga's painting said something that ashamed even the blood extremists of the family, and Sirius' anger flared. Orion Black was really thinking he needed to do something before the next time his son would come here, or each visit would be hell.

“Now listen, you bigoted old fool! I put up with your blood ravings for sixteen years, but you know very well I don't think anything of it. I met muggle-borns who were thrice as gifted as you were, dear mother, and you did too, but unlike me, you never had eyes to see the truth. My godson is a half-blood who survived five encounters with Voldemort. And my best friend is a werewolf who was the best Defense against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts in years. And as far as I know, the only ones who ever have squibs children are us pure-bloods, not muggle-borns or half-bloods. So you'd better try to think about it twice next time you think of using the word 'mudblood', since they apparently are more prone to produce magical children than we are!”

Walburga took a step back in the painting, surprised by the spite in her son's words, and many other Blacks were looking at him with renewed interest. Yes, they had always known Sirius to be harsh and to hate his parents, but this was something else.

The young Lord's tone was freezing.

Orion, still silent, remembered what he had heard about his son's life at Hogwarts, and realized it hadn't been a lie. All these years, when Sirius had argued with his mother, their son had never used that particuliar tone on her, because Walburga had still held a place in his heart.

This was the tone Sirius used on those he despised truly... Or, in this case, on those he loved but couldn't hope to see change their mind anymore.

Orion Black's non-existent heart hurt a bit. His son still loved them, his family, his parents, even his mother, even after all she had done, even after what had been said, but he didn't believe in them anymore. It was even a wonder he had believed in them for so long.

Orion shook his head slightly. He'd talk to his wife.

“Now, I can understand, even if I can't understand, your stance about blood purity. I understand the logic, even if I don't endorse it. I can't uderstand how you came to this logic, because it is sick and twisted.”

Sirius turned to Druella and Cygnus Black, who had watched the exchange tight-lipped.

“As for you, I'd like to point out that the filthy child of the daughter you repudiated became an Auror and is actually a metamorphmagus. I don't believe either of you can say the same thing. Oh, and surprise, I took Andromeda back in the family, with her muggle-born husband and her halfblooded metamorphmagus daughter. Don't you dare complain about it.”

No one said a word. They were all too shocked to do that, and those who didn't actually care about purity were trying to bit back a laugh. Sirius was certain Alphard had walked away in the scenery only so that no one would see him cry with laughter.

“Sirius.”

Orion Black had chosen to look as young as his son, because he wasn't going to play superior. He was only a painting, and his son was Lord Black. He had no right to force Sirius into anything, and wasn't going to try.

If the young Lord was disturbed by their likeness, he said nothing.

“Father.”

Orion walked to the curve in the wall, where three dark beds were painted. That was the place were each dying family member appeared as their life declined. When the new figure opened their eyes and rose from the bed, it meant their life had come to an end and they were nothing more than a painting.

Sirius watched as his father sat on the edge of the leftmost bed.

Orion Black passed his hand on the head of the young man asleep in there.

Sirius stiffened.

“Regulus has never opened his eyes. He's not dead yet.”

“I'll find him. If I can save him, I'll do it. If not...”

“You'll end his suffering.”

“He's my brother.”

“He's my son.”

There was an untold “thanks” in this exchange, and that was better this way. Neither Sirius nor Orion needed to say more, because they were father and son, because they cared about Regulus.

The Blacks were beginning to think it was enough entertainment for the day, and were going back to their other activities, gossiping, visiting their portraits, whatever they were doing before Sirius had come and whatever they could do now that he had opened the manor again, but Arcturus' voice called them back to the conversation. Because the question they heard was just utterly interesting and they had wondered the same thing since Sirius Black, convict in Azkaban, had walked in the secret basement of Black Manor.

“How did you get out of Azkaban?”

Sirius smirked and many wondered if that was bad or good news.

“Well, obviously, I escaped.”

Eyes bulged and coughing was heard. But Sirius wasn't finished. He had been way too serious all along, and he wanted to play a bit before going back upstairs.

“Of course, you're forbidden from telling this to anyone. But it wasn't so difficult, really, I just had to transform and get out when dementors came with food. Oh, right, you don't know. Mum, dad, I'm an unregistered animagus, a grim, actually.”

He transformed, transformed back, and grinned. Other eyes bulges and more coughing was heard.

“Proud of me? I hope so, after all, I became one with James and Peter, that filthy traitor, but that's not the point, when we were only fifteen... Anyway, I was just this skinny, with Azkaban's meals, it wasn't so difficult... Yet, swimming to the shore while underfed wasn't so easy, and avoiding capture for three years after that is a feat, I suppose... Anyway, I'm innocent, and as my trial is wednesday, I'll soon be free as a bird.”

He was going to let the gobsmacked idiots and other giggling relatives, especially Alphard, to their bewilderment, and go back upstairs, when he wondered about Bellatrix. She was dead, after all, so was she here? Sirius went back to where he had talked to Bella's parents, and saw the witch, looking in her thirties, sitting on a chair with a lost look on her face. Maybe it had to do with her being a ghost at the same time as being in the painting?

“Bella?”

The figure's eyes lit up instantly, and winked at him. Every Black in the room except Sirius was shocked, for the girl had not said a word nor reacted to anything after her death.

“Oh, don't worry about this, it's only because I killed her. Well, she killed me before, so it was fair.”

And Sirius left the basement with a huge grin on his face, always happy to mess with his relatives.

Down there, three prior Lords of the House of Black shared a look, knowing very well what their descendant had meant by that, and they decided they needed to go wander in the painting in the master room. They had to talk about the Reciprocation curse, and they be damned if that hadn't been an invitation to do so.

 

 


	12. I believe we need to talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much time left before Sirius' trial, and there's still so much to do... Damn you, Scrimgeour!

 

Sirius left the secret basement and walked past the Aurors who looked at him, puzzled and wondering where the hell he had disappeared all this time. As he went to his room, he saw many figures going from one painting to another, finally free. He already knew that three of them were heading to the sole painting in the master bedroom, a high, large, long depiction of a cliff during a stormy night.

Achernar Black, a Lord in the eleventh century, Vega Black, eldest of her silblings and so Lady of the House of Black having given up her married name for the sake of her family in 1398, and Rigel Black, Lord Black in the early seventeenth century. The Black Family members who had defied death. The ones who had succeeded in casting the Reciprocation curse.

He had been a bit obvious before, and if the three former Lords and Lady hadn't got it, they had to be thick.

Hell, all of the Blacks might have understood, for the obviousness of his statement. After all, they knew about the curse, they just didn't have a clue how to use it if they weren't former Lords or Ladies. Said Lords and Ladies Black were certainly having a fit of smugness down there, with all the other Blacks dying to know more about the curse. Each time a Lord died it was the same thing all over again, the others tried to get him to talk.

Sirius was climbing the stairs to the third floor when Bellatrix's ghost showed up through a wall, carefully checking that he hadn't an Auror tailing him, just in case.

“ _I take it you visited the basement?”_

The young Lord smirked a bit at his cousin's face. Bella looked completely lost, and that wasn't something usual.

“Would you perhaps be linked to the wall painting too?”

The ghost shrugged, and they walked in Sirius' bedroom.

“ _Looks like it. Actually, I started feeling like I'm more of a portrait than of a ghost a while ago. Some sort of portrait, in fact, because I'm in the painting in the basement and I'm here at the same time, when others can't be in two paintings at the same time. It's really, really strange.”_

“And what, you can see what your painting can see too?”

If that was the case, it could become downright useful...

“ _Well... yeah. But that's weird. I'm not sure, maybe I can close off the connection. I feel like I can. Before, the basement was locked down, and my painting was disconnected, so I had no access and my painting was inactive. Now I see here and there, and that's strange. If I can, I'll separate myself from my portrait's consciousness.”_

Sirius looked at her oddly, and Bella wondered if what she had just said had made any sense at all. Maybe not. After all, she was different from him. She wasn't alive anymore, and yet she wasn't exactly a ghost, nor a painting, she was something in between.

“The Reciprocation curse isn't supposed to be used on family...”

Bella jumped in surprise and quickly turned to the origin of the voice.

Sirius said nothing and just sat in an armchair. Very calm, he looked at a large painting that took the whole back wall of the room.

The scenery was that of a stormy night, a tree on the edge of a grim-looking cliff. In the background, dark clouds and thunderbolts. Only Lords' and Ladies' portraits could come in this painting. Three of them were currently standing there, as Sirius had guessed they would be.

“Family isn't supposed to kill each other either.”

“I Guess you have a point.”

Vega Black was the one talking.

The former Lady was a witch with the ink black hair and pale complexion of the Blacks, but she had beautiful dark blue eyes. Looking around fifty years old right now, she had the looks of an aristocrat. A Black, really.

“Mind you, I don't think Bella cares so much about it anyway. Do you?”

Looking at the ghost hovering behind him, Sirius arched an eyebrow.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes, but she wasn't really angry at him. Yes, he had exchanged her life for his, but well, she had it coming. After all, she had killed him.

“ _I don't like being dead, no matter what you believe, Sirius. But I like it better than being insane and on the way to murder half of my family, so no, I don't resent you for killing me.”_

Sirius grinned at her then turned back to the painting.

“Yeah, because my dear cousin was bent on killing me and just about any other family member besides Narcissa, because Andromeda and I are blood traitors, Dora is a half-blood and Edward is a muggle-born. So she's grateful I freed her from her insanity. But all that aside, can you tell me if that is normal?”

And he pointed at the ghost, who huffed in annoyance.

Rigel Black frowned, not understanding his point.

“If what is normal?”

Vega and Achernar rolled their eyes as the other Lord looked at Sirius. Rigel had been so used to the whole post-curse situation, having successfully cast the Reciprocation curse at twenty three and died at eighty eight years old, that he hadn't a clue about what the current Lord was saying.

“If having a ghost of your killer haunting and serving you after the use of the curse is normal, Rigel. It's not exactly usual to have a ghost obeying you without resorting to threats.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, Oh.”

“Leave me alone, Achernar. At least your ghost was an hired assassin, he didn't have a personal grudge against you. Mine wanted me dead since his father had been killed by mine. Yes, he had to obey me, but it didn't stop him from hating me. Try living with a grudging ghost for sixty five years, and you'll see!”

Achernar snorted at that. Of course, Rigel didn't like to think about his personal ghost. Him and Vega had been the least lucky of the four revived Black Lords, with a vengeful spirit and a young jealous woman for Vega who had become a bit of a poltergeist even if she technically wasn't one. But Vega, unlike Rigel, had understood what Sirius was talking about.

As for Bella, she was enjoying the quarrel with a smirk on her lips.

The young Lord, sensing the discussion was going awry, talked before anyone could inflame the situation anymore.

“I take it that's normal, then.”

Vega, who was the least hot-headed of the three figures, nodded.

“But why would you doubt it? It's not like the Reciprocation Curse can be cast rigth or wrong. If you fail it, then it's goodbye. There's no escape route. If you are alive and she is dead, then every single thing went right. If not, you'd be dead ands she'd be alive.”

Well, the thruth was that three, and now four, persons casting the damn curse right could hardly be seen as a representative show of the curse's effects. But in theory, there was no loophole, and in practice, Achernar, Vega and Rigel had known the exact same effects after the casting. It surely meant something, didn't it?

Sirius and Bellatrix exchanged a glance, wincing as they thought of the exact circumstances of the Lord's death. Such as, the fact that there hadn't been a body for him to go back to. Or the moment he had lived in Bella's body. Which was, truth to be told, something Sirius had yet to tell the ghost.

Merlin, talk of an awkward conversation...

The wizard straightened in his armchair and stared stubbornly at a great black cloud in the background of the painting.

“The thing is, my death wasn't quite the same as yours.”

None of the previous Lords and Lady Black said anything, wondering what could be different in their descendant's death. After all, death was death. Achernar had been hit with the killing curse, Vega had been stabbed right in the heart, and Rigel had been hit by a breathless curse. Their death had nothing in common, apart from the fact that they had all cheated death and lived once again.

Sirius' eyes suddenly were directed at the three figures in the painting, which startled them a bit. Rigel shifted under the young wizard's stare.

It was a good thing that Sirius Black was skilled in occlumency, or they'd have seen the horror of Azkaban screaming in his eyes. And no one, not even those who, like them, had looked death in the eyes, no one would ever want to see the definition of despair that are twelve undeserved years in the hellhole that was called the worst prison ever.

“I fell behind the Veil in the Department of Mysteries.”

Silence.

They might not have known what the Department of Mysteries was, because it hadn't existed in their times, but there was only one thing called “the Veil” in Great Britain.

A door between life and death, some said.

But a one-way door.

Achernar's voice was what broke the silence.

“You had no body to return to.”

Because Achernar, Vega and Rigel knew well enough how the Veil was rumored to work, and because they had the best knowledge of the Reciprocation curse for having used it themselves, they knew the problem instantly.

Achernar's revival hadn't been much of a deal, after all, he had only been hit with a killing curse. No lasting effects on the body. A clean, quick death. Some said the killing curse was the worst of the Unforgivables, others thought it was the most human. The middle-aged wizard's death had been instantaneous, his resurrection had happened the same way. Achernar Black had died, and then he had opened his eyes once again, nothing more, nothing less.

Vega's coming back to life had been more painful, for if the curse had almost healed the stab wound, it hadn't made it disappear completely right away. For a time, the witch had seen black threads hidden in the blood coming out sporadically of the half-healed wound. After two days, though, it was gone, as if nothing had ever happened. Vega Black had been restored to her original state through the dark magic in the curse, but it was still her own body.

Rigel's awakening had been a bit frantic, searching, gasping for air after his lungs had been denied it until his body couldn't take it anymore and had eventually died. The young man had coughed blood the whole day after his death, and this blood seemed thick and dark, much more than normal. The next day, he had been healthy again, with no trace of darkness in his system. Rigel Black had lost his life due to an inability to breath, and the curse had reactivated his life after his death.

But Sirius Black?

The last step of the Reciprocation curse was to call back a dead amongst the living, and give him back to his body. Sirius hadn't had a body to be given back to.

“The curse created a new one for me, a body still pure and unaffected by the years I spent in Azkaban. Apparently, it considered that the 'injury' leading to my death, the injury it had to get rid of, goes back to fifteen years in the past.”

Rigel frowned, unsure how it could all be a single “injury” for the curse.

“But you were out of Azkaban for three years, weren't you? Shouldn't it count as a time of rest, not as part of your suffering?”

Achernar and Vega nodded at that, seeing Rigel's point. The Azkaban years were behind Sirius, though not far behind. They weren't stupid, it would always haunt the young man, this time locked up with dementors right outside his cell at all times of the day. Still, Sirius could only be better since he had escaped...

They still couldn't quite believe someone had broken out of the worst wizarding prison on Earth.

Sirius watched them as the three former Lords and Lady were slowly turning the conversation into a magical approach of the Dark Arts. Of course, he felt the same interest with his special case, after all, he was gifted with dark magic, clever and curious, but being himself the oddity was kind of strange.

Still, he snapped out of it and laughed a mirthless laugh, his usual bark-like laugh, yet again, it wasn't quite the same as usual, it was colder, meaner than his normal laughter, and if Bella had not been a ghost, she'd have shuddered hearing it.

“I was on the run for two years, eating scrap of food, without a wand, without proper clothing, without shelter no matter the weather, trying not to get caugh by dementors, living half of the day as a dog, so certainly no, I haven't been really better after my flight from Azkaban. As for last year, I was confined in Grimmauld Place and worrying every hour of the day for about everybody. I wasn't alright in terms of health since 1981. Reason why I'm back to my 1981 self.”

He paused a moment before continuing.

“Well, besides the bags under the eyes and the extreme palor, but that's because this body has been completely made out of the Dark Arts. And yes, I'm sure it's 1981 and not a simple healthy version of me, because I still have the scars from before 1981.”

The young wizard pulled up his right sleeve, showing three faded scars on his arm. They weren't the only ones, but their presence was enough to prove his point.

Bella looked away guiltily at the sight of the old wounds, but Sirius said nothing. He knew, she knew he knew, and pointing it out wouldn't change anything to the past.

The five Blacks, alive, ghost or figures in a painting, talked about the use of the curse a bit more, talked about what was going on in the world, and Vega smacked her hand on her forehead when Sirius told her about Voldemort and his followers. The stupidity some very clever people could display sometimes would always amaze her, and she let it be known. The young Lord did his best not to look too ill-at-ease as he unsuccessfully tried to keep his own thoughts away from some of his own choices, including for example a whomping willow, a Slytherin and a werewolf, as well as rat hunting and revenge.

Then the paintings left for another part of the manor, probably planning either to gossip about the latest news with the ones who had a portrait somewhere else, or to think about the creation of a body out of nothing thanks to dark magic. Sirius had always said the Blacks had lovely hobbies.

Bella swiftly disappeared without a word, certainly to do ghostly things. In other words, the young Lord had no idea where she was and what she was doing, and no intention to monitor his deceased cousin each minute of the day.

So Sirius spent the rest of the day reading wizarding law books, and went to bed early. He was confident in the outcome of his trial, but it couldn't hurt to know the exact words of the law, could it? The Aurors only saw him at dinner, and he left as soon as he finished eating to go back to his reading. He slept very well, though his dreams were filled with a sense of dread he knew too well and he could hide even better. What mattered was that he woke up happy and refreshed.

Seven o'clock, and Sirius Black was back to his law books.

When he deemed the hour more decent, the young man floo called Dumbledore and inquired of everybody's favorite potion master's whereabouts. It wouldn't do if he sent a patronus to Snape in the middle of a Death Eaters assembly, would it?

Now knowing that Snivellus the greasy git, not that he'd call the man that to his face, or even when talking with somebody, was as usual alone at his house, though it seemed Voldepants had given him a rat to help and spy on him, Sirius thanked the old wizard. He hesitated for one second before sending a grim-like patronus with a message for his schood days nemesis. The hell with the rat, after all, Snape was supposed to be a spy for the Dark Bastard as far as the Death eaters were concerned. It wouldn't be too odd if Sirius asked for his help, as long as he displayed enough dislike in his message to make it clear he didn't trust the greasy git and would do without his help if he could.

As he waited for an answer, Sirius thanked the heavens that there was at least one way of communicating that couldn't be intercepted. The only thing with this way was that it wasn't possible to determine if the other person was alone or not. The patronus went, delivered its message, and disappeared. No confidentiality, obviously, but nothing left behind too, no letter that could be stolen, no floo conversation that could be overheard by the Ministry.

Snape... Sirius and the man weren't best friends, sure, they didn't like each other, but they had become adults finally, and that was always something. They had some respect for each other that no one back at Hogwarts would have thought possible. Sirius black and Severus Snape, ennemies forever, had been more likely than anything else back then.

But now, even if they couldn't bear each other, they could work together. They hated it, yes. But they did it nonetheless if it had to be done. And they no longer wished hell to fall upon the other one, so they wouldn't try to sabotage the other's chances to stay alive.

It would have been easy, after all. A word to the wrong person about Snape's loyalty, a slip of the tongue about a certain incident caused by Sirius to a Ministry offical, and everything would crumble down for the two wizards. A few words, a short sentence to raise doubts, and the worst kind of sentence would fall upon them. Death. Prison. Anyway.

But no, they had to fight if they wanted to live normally someday, and if they couldn't fight together, it would have been a bit much to ask of them, they could at least not fight each other.

Sirius waited for a while, and he finally got an answer.

A silvery doe appeared next to him, and soon began to talk with a voice that did absolutely not match its looks, in other words, with Severus Snape's voice. Sirius listened, frowning as he considered the fact that Snape's patronus was the same as Lily's...

Maybe Dumbledore was right to trust the man, after all.

“ _Yes, Black, I can make a sinemendatium potion for your trial, but why would I when you can do it yourself? If I recall correctly, you had an outstanding N.E.W.T in potion. And frankly, you certainly missed the fact that hellhounds have been extinct for a century. Good luck finding their hairs that way.”_

Forget everything nice Sirius had ever thought about Snivellus, then. Not that it amounted to much anyway, but still.

Scowling, the wizard made another patronus to which he gave another message, a message that he'd have liked to make a lot less civil than the first one, but that eventually ended up this way:

“Snape, we're supposed to be able to work together, not to put sticks in each other's wheels. True, I had an outstanding in potion, but you yourself got an outstanding only because the examiner couldn't find a better mark for the potion genius that you are. A sinemendatium is extremely difficult to brew, and I'm sure you can do it the best. As for hellhounds, they're not extinct and I have some of those here. No, I'm not joking, and yes, if you see a rat during a meeting, you can tell him I'll have his hide one day or another.”

If Peter was there, listening to Snape's messages, he'd get it and hopefully wet his pants. Peter knew his former friend well enough, and he knew Sirius was not one to be crossed. Sure, Peter was more scared of Voldepants and his hooded servants, but Sirius wouldn't disdain any way on Earth to make his former friend even more miserable.

As usual, shift of Aurors, a quick meal, some more reading on wizarding laws, and Sirius was on his way to the Ministry of Magic once again, apparating next to the visitor entrance with his two human shadows. His head was so full of law texts he had the feeling he'd start reciting them if he was to open his mouth.

His feeling was soon proved wrong, fortunately for him.

Ignoring the glances he received as he walked to the Wizenmagot Administration Services, the young man kept his mouth shut, but that couldn't last. After some waiting time and a dozen of nervous glances in his direction, the welcome witch finally asked him why he was here.

Sirius gave her his most charming smile, and saw her falter a bit as he almost leaned on her desk to be closer to her as not to speak too loud. The left sleeve of his black robes slipped from his shoulder, his grey shirt was only halfway buttoned, and his skin was very pale.

He wasn't so much of a flirt, actually he had almost never needed to flirt to get a girl, but once in a while he liked to take advantage of his seemingly pleasant features. It had been fifteen years since last time, and the Ministry had done such a good job messing with his life, he thought he totally deserved to mess with its employees' head.

“I need to talk with someone about my trial.”

As if it hadn't been obvious.

Nonetheless, the woman blushed a bit as she looked down at some papers, her eyes lingering a bit longer than necessary on his exposed collarbone before they began to search for the name of the one supervizing the young Lord of the House of Black's trial.

“Julian Swain, third office to your left.”

Sirius thanked her with a dashing smile, and the witch's eyes were dreamy when Gulch and Flume passed by her, completely dazed by the Black Lord's ability to enthrall a woman.

Swain's office had its door open, and from the corridor, Sirius could see a wizard with grey hair and glasses, one hand on his coffee cup, the other one busy doing paperwork. The man seemed to be a bit overworked, though there was only one file on his desk. Sirius', obviously. This particular case alone was horrible enough to overwork anyone, the young Lord mused.

Swain barely acknowledged his visitor, gesturing vaguely for him to take a seat and wait until he finished whatever he was doing.

After eleven minutes and twenty-eight seconds, Sirius knew for sure because he had been opening and closing his silver watch in silence while waiting, the wizard looked up at his visitor. If he was surprised by the visit of the accused, it didn't show on his face.

“Sirius Orion Black, born to Orion and Walburga Black on the seventh day of October 1959, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, godfather to Harry James Potter. I've been on your file since what feels like the dawn of time, and yet it has only been three weeks. Do you have a request pertaining to your upcoming trial?”

And Julian Swain pushed his sliding glasses back on the top of his nose.

The Ministry employee spared a glance to Gulch and Flume, standing behind Sirius, and sighed, with another vague gesture to two chairs placed against the wall of the office.

“Don't stand like fools and sit down there, you're making me more tired than I already am just by the sight of you.”

The surprised Aurors obeyed without a word, exchanging awkward looks as Swain's attention went back to his visitor.

Sirius smiled, looking perfectly calm and satisfied. He liked this wizard, there was a no-nonsense look about him someone who had to prove his innocence could appreciate.

“As you certainly know, my trial is in two days. I... researched our laws quite a bit and found that the use of some truth potions was allowed, if not a guarantee of truthfulness.”

The shadow of a smile crept up on Swain's face.

“I fear you won't be able to brew a truth serum before your trial, Lord Black. But yes, if you have one of the approved truth potions, you can present to this service up to two hours before the trial. Its authenticity would be checked with the proper spells and you'd be allowed to take it before the court. The jury and the judge would be informed of its nature, with the caution that, as always, no truth serum is foolproof and its use is certainly not to be considered a conclusive evidence.”

Sirius waved the concerns away and simply said that it wouldn't be a problem.

“I don't think even an Unbreakabe Vow to say the whole truth and nothing but the truth would make the Wizenmagot believe me. There are those who believe in me, there are those who are reasonable enough to rely on the facts, evidences and testimonies, and there are those who will never believe a word I say anyway. The most I can do is hope the last ones aren't numerous enough to put me back in Azkaban. The dementors may have flown away, but this place is still hell on Earth...”

Swain was listening and not saying anything, but inwardly he was a bit surprised by the honesty of the young Lord. He knew it could all be an act, but still, there was too much distrust in Black's words for it to be completely made up.

“As for the truth serum, there is one that can be brewed in less than a day, that is allowed in court and would do perfectly.”

Swain frowned. He had never heard of such a potion...

“What truth serum?”

Sirius smirked, knowing his answer would cause disbelief.

“Sinemendatium. Very potent, impossible to trick or so it's believed to be, and not as intrusive as veritaserum. I have a potion master ready to make it for the trial.”

Julian Swain observed Black warily, waiting for the moment he'd say it was all a joke. But the moment didn't come, so the Ministry employee of the Wizenmagot Administration Services eventually spoke up.

“Lord Black, are you aware that sinemendatium is a potion that cannot be brewed since the seventeenth century, as one of the main ingredients is not available anymore?”

If Swain thought the Black Lord would be touched by this, he was wrong. Sirius smile only grew wider, and everyone else in the room felt very weird. They couldn't read this man at all, even if sometimes he seemed to be readable as an open book, and that was unnerving. It was as if Black could control his emotions to the point of going back and forth between shutting them off and displaying them for all to see any time.

“You're talking about hellhound's hairs, aren't you?”

So he knew even which ingredient couldn't be found anymore. Maybe the Blacks had had some in stock without anyone knowing about it?

Black smiled. He did that a lot. It wasn't always comforting, because Black seemed to have a wide range of smiles up his sleeve. Flirty, reassuring, genuine, false, cold, warm, freezing, happy, condescending, frightening, threatening, and many others.

Swain took a sip of coffee. He really needed that if he wanted to survive this month of doom.

“Everyone believes that hellhounds are extinct, but they're not. There are some left in Transylvania, even if they're very hard to come across. And one of my ancestors brought a couple of them back home after a trip to America.”

Swain almost spilled his coffee.

“You have hellhounds on one of your properties?!”

Black looked unconcerned when he answered.

“On Black Manor's grounds, yes.”

This time the strongest reaction came from Gulch, who looked about to become translucent with how much she paled at the thought of having been around the beasts.

Swain calmed down a bit.

“And no one know?”

“No one asked.”

And there it was, the wealth of the Blacks would just go up once again as soon as people would know they had access to such a rare ingredient.

Swain coughed in his hand, pushed back his glasses on his nose, glanced at a sheet of paper, looked back at the young Lord and decided that it wouldn't be good to expect anything normal from the wizard.

“Well, if you can get some, then... But you know of the risks, don't you?”

“Yes, I know what happens when the potion is too old and one drink it anyway. It won't happen to me, that I can assure you of.”

Julian Swain nodded. Better comply with the Black Lord's wishes.

“One last question...”

The Ministry employee arched an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“Will I be allowed to be the one to explain the use of a truth serum to the Wizenmagot? I don't want them to believe I'll rely on it to prove everything and so be led to think I tampered with it in some way.”

Swain frowned. His position had required him to follow a course of seven lessons on thruth potions. If what he knew of sinemendatium was right, there was no way to tamper with it and not suffer from grave consequences...

“Doesn't a wrongly brewed sinemendatium cause the...”

Black interrupted him with a cool tone to his voice, but Swain was sure it had to do with the two Aurors listening to the conversation. There was a possibility they wouldn't let the man ask for use of sinemendatium if they knew exactly what were the risks. After all, even if Scrimgeour seemed to think that Black was guilty, others doubted that. Without truth serum, the accused lowered his chances of acquittal. With it, he risked death. And innocent or not, if Sirius Black died before the end of his trial, it would benefit the Minister for Magic... and infuriate the public.

But it was the Black Lord's right to ask for it, and Swain worked for the law.

“... of the user, yes, it does. But I trust the abilities of the potion master who will brew this potion, and my life is worth nothing if I'm jailed a second time. I'll be free by the end of my trial, and there isn't a 'or else'.”

Of course, Black hadn't said the word.

He hadn't mentioned the fact that death could be the outcome.

He had ended Swain's sentence, only omitting one word: death.

Swain noted the request, and told the young man that everything was in order. After that, Black left his office, and the old wizard found himself a bit puzzled about his visitor.

Sirius quickly left the Ministry of Magic, for he didn't like the looks some people were sending him. Yes, he liked to be the center of attention, but only in a particular set of circumstances, not when everyone was taking bets on his jailing or his freedom. He'd have enough of those unpleasant glances at the trial. For now, he had to keep his secrets to himself... to be able to come clean in front of the whole Wizenmagot the day after tomorrow without any rumours running around and jeopardizing his chances.

A surprise waited for him at the manor.

When he first saw a man standing next to the gates, Sirius took out his wand, but his wariness didn't last.

The man waiting for him wasn't a man. He was a werewolf, and his name was Remus Lupin.

“Moony!”

A bone-crushing hug caugh the werewolf off guard, and for a moment Remus wondered if someone had imperiused his best friend, or, worst, if someone had polyjuiced the wizard, because that was definitely not a normal reaction to the visit of a friend.

His worries were discarded when Sirius began whining.

“I went to the Ministry, and half of the people there were looking at me funnily, and I'm sure they were cursing under their breath and wishing I drop dead. Why does everyone hate me, Moony?”

Remus roled his eyes at his friend's antics.

“And me, what I am? Am I left out of 'everyone', Padfoot? I'm hurt, I believed I was a human being at least to you, but I can see I was only delusional.”

Sirius snorted at that and hit him playfully on the arm.

“Don't stand like an idiot and come in, Remus. You're clear with the wards, and I can assure you you won't be shred to bits. Look, you just have to walk to the gates, and they will open for you.”

Once on the property, Sirius feigned to forget he had to invite the Aurors in, but Flume bribed him with a box of cristallised pineapples and he let them in.

As they walked back to the manor, Sirius asked his best friend why he had come. Remus, serious as ever, when his friend failed to be despite his first name, showed him the letter from the day before.

“I believe we need to talk, Sirius.”

“So you know who she is?”

Remus rolled his eyes.

“Everyone knows who Eleanor Rowle is, Sirius, and you more than anyone else should know.”

They went in a sitting room on the first floor and Sirius asked Sterhn to make some tea for them.

After having inquired about his friend's health, Sirius finally went back on topic.

“Why should I of all people know who she is, Remus? She must have been a first year during our last year, and she was in Slytherin. I have no reason to know about her, least of all to know her.”

“Sirius, if you keep that up, I'll have to lubricate my eye-balls because I'm rolling them too much.”

The young Lord looked oddly at his friend, and began to think he was really missing something.

“I'm not doing it on purpose, Remus.”

The werewolf didn't believe him at first. After all, how could Sirius have forgotten about Eleanor Rowle? Their... interractions at Hogwarts had surprised everyone and been a gossip topic for months. The Gryffindor and the Slytherin, the odd duo, the Black Traitor and the Freak Princess. How many times had James said something about how uncanny Sirius' behavior towards Eleanor had been? Surely Sirius hadn't forgotten that...

But as he searched his friend's eyes for an answer, as he encountered only surprise in the silver of these eyes, Remus had to admit to himself that yes, one way or another, Sirius had forgotten about Eleanor Rowle.

The werewolf sighed, wondering how to talk about it.

“Sirius... She's the only Slytherin besides your brother you ever protected.”

The wizard cast him a disbelieving look.

“You're kidding me.”

“I'm not.”

“The only Slytherin besides my brother I ever protected was that first year who was always given the cold shoulder by her housemates.”

Oh, so he remembered, but somehow, he hadn't recognized her. Somehow. Yes, between eleven and thirty years old, Eleanor had changed, but still, she hadn't changed that much. And even like that there was her name. Sirius had learned the Noble and Ancient Houses' family trees as a child, he certainly couldn't have...

“Wait a minute, are you saying you never knew her name?!”

Sirius cringed at the accusation, but it was true. He had never asked, she had never told, and somehow, he had never heard the girl's name.

“Well...”

“You're unbelievable!”

“Wait a minute, Moony, it's not like we talked! I stopped the bullies, acting as if all I was doing was hexing some Slytherins because they were Slytherins and not because they were picking on one of their housemates. I helped her to find her way in the castle the first week when no one was around. I stopped her from breaking her skull when she was pushed in the stairs. That's all. I was the Black Traitor, the Gryffindor who should have been in Slytherin and wanted nothing to do with blood purists and snakes. She was the Freak Princess, talented at school and gifted with words but of average sheer power, that even the Slytherins didn't like. I wasn't going to become friend with her!”

The look Remus gave him meant everything. Sirius might not have wanted to show his soft spot for the first year, but everyone except the thickest had known.

“Why were you on her side, then?”

Sirius looked away as he answered his best friend's question. There was no way he had had feelings for an eleven years old back then, he knew that, and besides, it would have been sick, but now he felt as if saying the truth could only be misinterpreted.

“I don't know, okay. She was there, with no friends, and even if she was in Slytherin and a pure-blood she treated everyone the same, which got her to be singled out by most of her housemates. She needed help, and I could help, so I did.”

Remus smirked, Sirius saw this, and hit him with a cushion.

“No impure thoughts.”

“I wouldn't dare.”

Serious again, Sirius took a sip, wondering when exactly he had exchanged firewhiskey for tea.

“That aside, why did you say everyone knows her?”

“Eleanor is said to be a genius.”

Remus continued. As a child, she had been different from many pure-bloods. She could have been a great addition to the Order of the Phoenix. Yet no one had ever thought of going to her and ask. After all, she had been too young during the first war, she had a Death Eater brother, and she did nothing to clarify her stance in the war. Moderate blood purist, or egalitarian? No one knew.

She freaked many people out, too.

“Great. Another pure-blood lover, muggle hater, potential villain.”

Remus couldn't tell what Sirius really thought. Was it sarcasm, or did he believe it?

“It doesn't add up to what we know of her, though. After all, she took Muggle Studies and got an Outstanding at her N.E.W.T.s. But eitherway, she got Outstandings in all her subjects, so...”

“She what?!?”

But that wasn't the point. Eventually, Sirius ended the discussion, shaking his head. He had hoped...

“Slytherin, pure-blood and surely knowledgeable in the Dark Arts. There's nothing else to say.”

He didn't really believe what he had just said, Remus noticed, but Sirius still walked out of the room and disappeared for the rest of the day. Thanks to the tracking spell, the Aurors could tell he was on the grounds, but were exactly, they didn't know. Remus thought he knew, but said nothing.

 

 


	13. A glint of kindness in a world of despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adjusting back to the trilogy school / blog / fanfiction.  
> With some luck, I'll be back on tracks by the end of the year...
> 
> By the way, who invented exams, so that I can strangle them one of these days?

No matter how long they waited, the Aurors and Remus didn't see Sirius come back the next morning. Noon was getting near when the werewolf decided it might be a good idea to wake the Black Lord up, and that for various reasons, amongst which were the fact that the other Aurors would be there soon, and the fact that Snape needed hellhound hairs before two pm to finish the sinemendatium in time.

Grumbling about dogs and stubborn Lords, Remus left the manor for the forest under the prying eyes of Gulch and Flume. He knew exactly where to look, and for once he was happy to be a werewolf. Even if he wasn't part of the Black Family, the beasts out there wouldn't jump at his throat for trying to get near the Lord of the House of Black while the man was sleeping. Hopefully.

Remus walked more and more slowly as he came nearer to the place he knew he would find Sirius.

Contrary to popular belief, being a werewolf did in no way grant superstrength or hearing or anything else. At best, a werewolf could be considered stronger than what was expected for their sickly built, but it stayed at a human limit. True, they usually had great senses, but nothing more than what was humanly possible.

Yet Remus was there, listening to every sounds, his nostrils searching for scents, as if he could pick those up so far away from their sources. He knew that wasn't possible. But he was nervous.

Exactly, nervous. Nothing else.

The fact that when he was upset, Sirius usually took off as Padfoot and went to the dogs of the property to sleep it off wasn't frightening at all. That is, they were only dogs. Big, magical, terrifying, mythical dogs, but dogs nonetheless. Remus would certainly find his friend curled into a ball, either as Padfoot or in human form. Sometimes he tranformed back while sleeping and the dogs didn't mind at all, because they knew he wasn't the same as them, they knew he was their master, too, their owner and yet their friend, because the wizard had that weird ability with animals. They wouldn't harm him in any way, and would certainly defend him if it came to that someday.

So yes, Remus knew he was going to walk right into a cave that was some supernatural dogs' den and he was going to try to wake up the very man they considered their responsibility. Obviously, he'd be nervous if he had to do that. And he actually had to. So he was nervous.

After a while, the werewolf walked into the clearing outside the cave. Stopping at the entrance, he took a deep breath and listened for a while to the multiple breathings he could hear coming from the cave. They weren't far inside, and if he squinted his eyes a little, he could actually make out something that looked like a ball of dark fur.

A huge ball of dark fur.

Remus lighted his wand, keeping it to the ground, not sure of how the beasts would react.

There, against a wall of stone, a gigantic three headed dog was sleeping peacefully, other smaller dogs lying around on the ground, and a man with black hair curled up between two of its heads.

A yellow eye was opened somewhere on the left of the cerberus, and a bear-like dog, that didn't look as enormous when compared to the adult three headed dog, stared at the intruder, its eye gleaming in the dark. A low growl escaped its snout, but it wasn't really aggressive.

Yet.

Remus flinched a bit as he heard the growl and turned around very slowly to look at the animal. He certainly didn't want it to think he was a danger or anything.

When he saw the beast, the light from his wand lighting it a bit, he felt quite better.

The animal wasn't one to joke with, he was very much aware of that, but he really liked it better that he had to deal with one of those first, rather than a hellhound, or worst, the cerberus itself. At least, he knew one thing or two about grims.

First of all, they weren't an omen of death, though they used to live in very dangerous or deserted places when untamed. Hermione had talked with him of her suspicions during the preceding summer, and he had been able to inform her that she was mostly right. Grims didn't bring death to those who saw them, but their presence was usually a fair warning about dangerous lands. And with time, the rumors had grown out of hand and now it really happened that wizards and witches convinced themselves they were done and so died. Rather stupid, he'd say.

After all, no one during their Hogwarts years had died from meeting Sirius, and Sirius' animagus was unmistakably a grim. They had checked, and there was no race of dogs that looked like a grim aside from, obviously, grims. And Sirius was a copy of Black Manor's grims, only with silver eyes instead of yellow ones. But that much could be expected, after all, James had been an almost black stag, and stags weren't usually black.

Grims were dangerous, still. If they lived in dangerous lands, it was because they could hold their own in front of many things and monsters. But they weren't naturally aggressive, and usually left you alone unless you went after them... or those they cared for. Here, Sirius.

Remus walked slowly to the animal, his left hand towards the magical dog, for it to smell him if needed. The grim eyed him one moment without moving an inch, gauging him, probably, and started sniffing his hand, his growl becoming less and less audible.

Around them, other eyes, yellow and red ones, grims' and hellhounds' ones, were opening, and watching. If the grim deemed the visitor alright, they wouldn't mind him. If not...

Remus tensed a bit, but managed to stay calm.

And the grim looked at the man with curious eyes.

This smell...

This was no man.

The beast's hairs pulled erect, and the growl came back, worst than before.

Grims and hellhounds all around got on their four legs, came closer, all senses alert, looking at the man, no, no, not the man, looking at the wolf, looking at the man, at the man, looking at the wolf, the wolf in human skin, the wolf that had come to them, the...

Werewolf.

Growling, snarling, baring their teeth, the supernatural dogs moved to surround Remus, and the wizard shivered, knowing full well he was at a turning point. If he showed no fear, or rather, no weakness, because fear was also a form of respect, if he managed to do just that, maybe the animals would hesitate long enough and get a catch of Sirius' scent on his clothes.

Just his luck the Black Lord had been in need of a hug last evening.

If not, he'd just have to run for it. And hope.

Please, make it so that the cerberus wouldn't wake up too.

Remus tried to calm himself.

There was no way to escape a grims and hellhounds hunt. At best, Sirius would wake up at his horrible screams as he'd be torn to pieces, and stop them from utterly killing him.

He let out a shaky laugh, because he was overdoing it again and he knew it.

The grim that was gauging him tilted its head to the left, surprised with the wolf's reaction.

There was something about the werewolf that marked him as a friend, and that was the reason why it still hadn't gone for his throat. That, and the wood stick in the wolf's hand. The grim wasn't stupid, he had seen his masters use the wood stick before, and he knew that it could do much damage, though he wasn't sure how. And, well, it felt like the wolf wouldn't really attack, if not for defending himself... So it was going to leave it at that... and watch out for Sirius, just in case.

Seeing that the werewolf was staying still, the magical dog stopped growling once more, and inspected once again the wizard's smell.

There it was, the marking that said the werewolf to be a friend.

The master's scent.

And a scent of friendship, greatness, goodness...

And despair.

The wolf in the man was angry at himself, considering that he was a monster, a monster, worse, worse than actual monsters, that is, magical creatures such as the grim. The man behind the wolf was ignoring that in the end, he was the wolf. There was no other monster, hidden in his guts, waiting for the full moon to possess him and make him do everything he dreaded. There was only the insanity of three nights in a month.

No monster.

Only insanity, and pain.

So much pain.

Flesh and bones and muscles and tendons, all of his limbs, breaking, moving, changing forms, over and over, three nights in a row, every month. Teeth into fangs, nails into claws, man into wolf, and pain into pain. More pain, for three nights. More pain than ever... up till next time.

Werewolf.

Of course, the grim knew nothing of the man's past. It knew nothing of the man's fears. It knew nothing of the man's lone years. But it knew what it could smell, and it knew of the pain, the despair, the fear and the hurt. It knew that the wolf was part of the grim form of his master's pack. It knew that the werewolf and the human grim were the only ones remaining.

It withdrew, ceased its growling, and bent its head to be petted.

Remus blinked, but the sight didn't change when his eyes opened again, and he had to admit, the sudden acceptance, if surprising, was conforting. At last, he carefully began to stroke the enormous dog behing the ear.

“I have to wake Sirius. He hasn't got much time to prepare if he doesn't want to go back to Azkaban, you know.”

The dog whined. It knew that whatever it was, Azkaban wasn't a good thing. The wizards it had heard talking about it had always sounded either horrible or frightened to no end. And the master hadn't come for years, and when he had come back, a few days prior, there had been something changed about him. Not only the scent he gave off, but also his eyes.

The silver-eyed grim that was the Black Lord had felt surreal, even more than what a grim usually felt like, he had felt dangerous yet not aggressive. Sirius Black had always been powerful, the grim knew that. But it wasn't the same anymore. There was something dark, not something evil, but definitely dark, about the human with the silver eyes, as if he wasn't really human anymore... There was something cold about the man...

But that wasn't all.

The grims, hellhounds and cerberus had seen their master coming back, their friend coming to them once again, after more than a decade, and they had been overjoyed. The dark form of a grim, but with silver eyes, coming to them, the scent of Sirius Black, but with a certain coldness about him. A shudder running down their spine. But still, Sirius Black without a doubt.

And then he had come nearer, and they had greeted the human grim properly, and they had seen.

Seen what?

None of them were certain what it was.

But there had been suffering in the man's eyes.

Not that it wasn't usual with the master. Sirius had always had something cold, inhumane in a way, about him, as if his life with his family had killed something inside of him. Something, like hope. Or trust. Only, it had never been so fierce, the hardness in his eyes.

Something had happened, while he had been away, and it would never back down from haunting the wizard. Sirius Black would simply do what he always did: acknowledge the pain, and cast it aside.

That was how the Black Lord could so easily control his face and feelings. Some said one couldn't monitor his every feelings, one couldn't chose to ignore the hurt. And the fact was, that the man didn't do that. No pain was lurking at the limits of his mind, ignored and waiting for the moment when he wouldn't be able to bear with it anymore to invade his sanity and break him into pieces. Yes, the pain was here. Rationalized. Kept in check. Eating him alive. He had chosen to live it everyday of his life, so that he wouldn't go down with one blow. In the end, surely, he'd be little more than a shadow of himself, but for now, he could take anything on. He didn't feel the need to talk to someone about it, to find someone to talk about what haunted him, because he knew it wouldn't do any good, and it most likely would blow up to his face in the middle of the war. It always had, it always would.

From time to time, the wizard let his heart out, sometimes he talked about it, with his friends, with people who needed to know they weren't the only ones to suffer, with the ones who mattered. Not often, mind you, but sometimes he did. Yet, when he did, it wasn't out of need. It was only because he knew, and not because he felt, since, as he had learned previously, a feeling couldn't be trusted, that it was the thing to do. A little honesty will keep people's curiosity at bay, and they will be less likely to believe he had it perfect.

Remus knew all that, and he didn't mind. He was there to listen if Sirius wanted to talk, he was there to look after his best friend in case his feelings and pain, for some odd reason, got the best of him. After all, Sirius was only human, and even if he had more self-control than all of Slytherin together when he wasn't starving and on the run from dementors, accidents could happen.

The werewolf remembered their school years, and looking back, he now understood how innocent they had all been, James, Peter and himself. How, even if Sirius had always seemed to be like everyone else, with a bit of a temper, acting rash from time to time, doing things only irresponsible youths would do, the Black heir had in fact had complete control over what he did all along.

It wasn't that Sirius' anger, pain and sadness, his cheerfulness, joy and laugh, had been, or were for the matter, staged. It was only that the boy, back then, had always chosen whether or not he would let it out. The only exception had been that one time, with the Whomping Willow. And that time, the teenager had kept his anger to himself so well no one had seen the slightest difference in behavior. No one had suspected anything, and everyone had been so taken aback, when the truth had come to light, that they had finally realized how shut in Sirius' openness was.

What had happened after that...

Well, let's only say that the Black heir hadn't been so surprised when Remus had believed him able to betray his best friend, though he knew that the werewolf hadn't expected him to be willing to.

Remus was remembering all that, as he carefully made his way to the cerberus and to his friend under the vigilant eyes of the Black Manor watchdogs. He was thinking about how Sirius was a well managed factory of destruction, a volcano ready to explode any moment and yet tamed by a will of steel, as he managed to wake up the Black Lord, who looked at him oddly for a second, before shrugging and standing up. He was reminding himself that, if the House of Black had created a perfect Lord, a wizard with scarce flaws who knew of humanity and yet was able to ignore it if needed, Sirius had never been really able to live fully, not because he didn't know how to be happy, but because he had seen too much of the world's horror, too much human hatred, too many despicables personality traits, to be able to go blind and forget about the dark side of the world, even for a minute. The wizard was too clever, too powerful, too important.

And the worst was that Sirius knew all that, and had accepted it, way before Remus had even understood who his friend really was.

The Black Lord looked around the cave, somewhat relieved that his dog friends hadn't torn his werewolf friend apart while he was sleeping, then looked back at Remus.

“What time is it?”

Sleeping on the ground wasn't exactly comfortable, but he couldn't deny that he felt better than the day before, as if he had had more than his fair share of sleep.

The werewolf tried with no success to tame a smirk and Sirius frowned in confusion, not liking this at all.

“Nearly noon, Sirius.”

The Black Lord's eyes almost rolled out of their sockets.

“What the hell?! I've got no-time-to-waste. Right, hellhound hairs, hellhound-hairs,-hellhound-hairs... I'm stupid, you knew that, Remus? I'm stupid, because-there-are-hellhound-hairs-all-around me-and-I-can't-get-myself-to-even-remember-that. And seriously, I've slept for more than twelve hours? Seriously?! I won't ever be able to-remember-every-single-law-I-need-to-remember-for-tomorrow-at-this-rate! I-lost-more-time-than-I-can-afford. Hellhound hairs! Ah, found it.”

The wizard was whirling around, and Remus could swear he had seen amusement in most of the supernatural dogs' eyes in the cave as they looked at their master running around the cave as he spoke faster than what he thought possible.

For a moment, the werewolf could have forgotten that, in fact, this honesty, this frankness in the reactions of his best friend, he could see it only because the man had allowed it. No one, while seeing the Black Lord acting like that, so humane, so truthful, could have guessed that Sirius Black could simply make it disappear if he wanted to.

A master at deception, really. And yet, the feelings shown at the moment were real.

Remus smiled genuinely.

There was nothing to fear about tomorrow's trial.

“Come on, let's go, Sirius. You already learned these laws by heart, and you know it.”

The man calmed down a bit, and sighed. Then, he turned to the closest hellhound.

“You'd let me have some hairs, right?”

The beast cocked its head to the side, apparently aggreing and visibly curious. Sirius' hand ran through its hairs, and when he drew it back, the wizard had a dozen of hairs between its fingers.

“Thank you.”

Then, turning to Remus once again, he grinned.

“Shall we go, then?”

The werewolf shrugged.

Sirius made to leave, but stopped on his tracks. He gazed at the dark figure that was Remus in the dimly lit cave, and, his hand patting absently the head of a grim, he added:

“Right, just one thing. Could you go to Snape with those? I don't think someone seeing me near that greasy git would do any good, be it Death Eaters or regular people.”

“No problem. I'll go as soon as we get back to the manor.”

“Thanks, Moony. You can't use the floo, though, they certainly have my fireplaces monitored. They'd know where you go if you use the main one, and if someone use the one in my office, they'll be suspicious. I don't want that, I need all the odds on my side for the trial...”

“Not a problem, Padfoot. I'll just walk out of the property and apparate.”

They were about to go when the cerberus opened its eyes. Remus took a step back, still not certain about the safety of a giant three headed dog waking up to find an unknown werewolf in its cave. Sirius smirked as he saw his friend wavering. There was really nothing to fear from the dog, unless you actually tried to harm someone it cared about in front of it.

The cerberus barked at him softly, and, intrigued, Sirius transformed.

The proposition, more like, the statement the beast made was exactly what the wizard lived for. A glint of kindness in a world of despair.

If your wolf friend wants, he can come for the full moons.

Sirius and Remus were the only Marauders left, because Wormtail was as good as dead. Padfoot alone would not be enough to contain Moony. It was true that, with the wolfsbane, there was no need for containing. But Remus would never accept the risk to go out with Padfoot during the full moon, even with a clear mind. After all, who could pretend they knew everything about lycanthropy or the exact effects of wolfsbane? What if the potion failed to work properly for a while, just a minute, just an instant, just long enough for the werewolf to lose control?

But with a pack made of magical beasts willing to stop the werewolf if he went mad, there was no danger. A cerberus, watchdog of the gates of hell, with its outrageous size, its snake tail, its three heads and its lion claws. A dozen of hellhounds, meager but dangerous reddish black dogs turning invisible at will but leaving afire footsprints on their trail. Seven grims, bear-sized ghostlike dogs, black fur, gleaming yellow eyes, and prone to disappearing in the foggiest night. Hellish dogs, certainly, frightening hounds if there ever were any, but as nice as any other dog with the ones who weren't actually trying to hunt them down.

Sirius smiled, a bit a happier than before.

That was what he needed to survive in this world of hatred, fire and despair. A bright light in the dark, a shine of hope, just once in a while.

Even coming from a cerberus.

Remus arched an eyebrow as the grim transformed back into a man.

“What was that about?”

For a second, the Black Lord thought of telling his friend, but he refrained from doing so at the last moment. He didn't want to bring up Remus' hope, in case the trial didn't go as well as it was supposed to. He himself didn't believe his strategy would backfire, but you never knew. There was only so much he could prevent.

“I'll tell you once I'm free.”

Remus rolled his eyes, and they made their way to the gates, where Gulch and Flume were waiting for them, while Moody Jr. and Dawlish waited outside. Sirius let the two Aurors in, saw the two others out, and bid goodbye to his best friend.

Then the Black Lord went to the room Remus had used for the night, wondering if, maybe, the werewolf had thought to bring him his Order mirror, that he had left at Grimmauld Place before leaving for the Ministry. Sirius could really use a talk with Dumbledore, again. And he'd be happy to have news, at least from Dora or Andromeda...

On the night table of the bedroom was a package, and the size fitted. Remus had brought the mirror.

Sirius went back to close the door behind him, not willing to have any Auror spying on his conversation. Then he sat on the bed, opened the package, but stopped, mirror in hand.

Would he contact Snape about the sinemendatium?

He pondered for a moment, but finally decided against it. Snivellus was able enough to make the potion, and wouldn't take it greatly if his school nemesis inquired about it, more so when he was making it for said school nemesis. The best Sirius could hope was that the man wouldn't be so vicious as to not make the potion, just to spite him and lower his chances at his trial.

So he settled with calling Dumbledore instead, hoping that the headmaster wouldn't be too busy, or, worse, talking / arguing with some Ministry official.

The image of an old man with a silvery beard appeared in the mirror as soon as he gave it the password, and for an instant, Sirius wondered if, maybe, the wizard had been waiting for his call.

It wouldn't be surprising, for Dumbledore always seemed to know much more than what was humanly possible.

“ _Sirius.”_

“headmaster.”

The old wizard's eyes twinkled merrily, always amused when a former student went on calling him as if they were still in school.

“ _Is there something you wish to talk with me about?”_

“Harry.”

“ _Ah, of course... Harry. Everything has to be about Harry, and it's just good that way. After all, if one day we want it not to be about Harry, then we first have to deal with it being about Harry.”_

Sirius blinked, not sure of what the old wizard meant by that, but eventually he decided to simply ignore it.

Not that he had absolutely no idea of what it meant.

Just, for now, he'd rather ignore said meaning.

So he gazed over the mirror, into nothingness, just so that he wouldn't have to look Dumbledore in the eyes when he'd ask his question, still afraid of the answer, whatever it would be.

“Will he come to the trial?”

If there was one thing he was afraid of, it was this.

The Black Lord wasn't sure whether or not he wanted his godson to come. He wasn't sure he wanted Harry to know everything he was capable of, everything he had already done, and how skilled in the Dark Arts he was. But he also didn't want to hide anything to the teenager, and not only because it would backfire if Harry ever learned of it from someone else. Such as, the newspapers, or worse, other students at Hogwarts.

When he looked back at the mirror, Sirius was a bit surprised to see that the twinkle in the headmaster's eyes had almost completely disappeared.

“ _Everything is ready for us to get him first hour in the morning. Remus, Nymphadora and Alastor volunteered to go and get him to the Ministry, protecting him from attacks from all assailant, so to speak. I don't doubt the_ Daily Prophet _and other newspapers will be as intent to get to him than the average Death Eater. But...”_

The old man paused for a second, his electric blue gaze searching for something on his former student's face.

“ _Sirius... It's your choice.”_

The young Lord didn't respond. He had no answer.

Dumbledore sighed, looking very old, very, oh so very tired all of a sudden.

“ _I did what I had to for him to come, if you decide he should be here. But I won't ask the Order to bring him to the Ministry if you don't tell me clearly that you want him here, Sirius.”_

Great, so he couldn't just ignore this conversation and get away with it by simply not forbidding, thus not allowing either, Harry's presence to his trial. And here he had been, hoping foolishly he wouldn't have to voice his decision, in fact, hoping foolishly he didn't need to come to a decision. It would have been great, if he could have just blamed Dumbledore if things went awry with Harry, because it would technically be his fault.

Seeing that Sirius wasn't going to say anything any time soon, the headmaster went back to talking, and, obviously, he was right. Sirius knew what the old wizard was saying was right, he had known all along, but still, it didn't make him feel better in any way.

“ _Harry won't like it if you keep him away from your trial, and he will have every right to be angry. After all, with what he has already been through, he can bear more than he let on. But even if the war is about Harry, even if everything is, in the end, about Harry, this is about you, Sirius. Will you allow him to see who you really are, each one of your flaws, and the sparks of cruelty that have made you who you are now? Will you tell your godson how terrible you can be, or will you shrivel away and be ashamed of yourself? If Harry can't accept you as you are, it will always be the case, even if he doesn't know it.”_

Yeah, well, that was exactly what he didn't want to think about.

“ _He's worried about you, and has been writing letters to everyone since the beginning of the summer break, Sirius. I believe you can trust him to see you're not so bad a man as you led yourself to believe, Lord Black. You are who your family, your friends, and a cruel world made you, and that's nothing to be ashamed of, even more when you fight for what is right.”_

“It doesn't change the fact that I killed people.”

“ _People they were, but Death Eaters they were too. I wouldn't say that death is an appropriate punishment, even for them, but sometimes it is a necessary one.”_

Of course... Dumbledore was all about offering second chances to everyone, even the mad heir of the House of Black who had tried to feed a classmate to a werewolf, even the Death Eater who gave away the prophecy that condamned the woman he loved, even the werewolf who had already deemed himself a human failure at age eleven.

Sirius wouldn't say he wasn't grateful for that, even if he felt some people out there deserved to die a thousand deaths.

After all, in a war, all sorts of people were needed. The compassionate ones, as the headmaster, as well as the ruthless ones, such as himself. And it wasn't as if Dumbledore was unable to kill if he had to. The old wizard never had had to, because he was powerful enough to overcome any enemy without killing them. Well, Voldepants excepted, but no one actually seemed to be able to properly murder the bastard...

“I guess he already knows I'm not an angel, but still... There are some things that will be revealed I'd rather not have him hear.”

A piercing gaze fell upon the young Lord through the mirror.

“ _Sirius... What are you planning to say exactly?”_

The headmaster wasn't asking for the specifics, Sirius knew that, but he still felt bad for not wanting to disclose them. There was simply no way he could formulate what he thought of doing without looking insane, not now, not while not in situation. But the clear eyes of the old wizard, sitting in his office at Poudlard, believing in him, were two unintentional accusatory arrows sent in his flesh...

Once again, a flutter of mistrust in his own plans took him over.

Sirius knew it would work, because it had to, and because he knew there was nothing to answer to his own accusations. But still. It wasn't because he knew it that it was the truth. Lots of people had known him to be guilty, and yet he hadn't been.

A heavy sigh escaped him.

He certainly hoped his arrogance wouldn't be his downfall.

“The truth. All of it. All that matter. Even what will not please. Even my darker side.”

He didn't want to endanger the work that the Order was doing. He didn't want to cause anyone trouble. He wanted to finally be useful, in the war, for Harry, against Voldemort.

If things didn't go his way tomorrow, he would be nothing more than a hindrance, once again.

“ _It is a dangerous bet you are willing to take, Lord Black.”_

Dangerous, indeed.

“ _But I do not fear, and even if I did, a second escape from Azkaban would only add to the legend.”_

Sirius said nothing, but he truly could't help the beginning of a smirk invading his face.

“ _So, what is your decision?”_

Yuck, the twice damned decision again.

Oh well...

“Let him come...”

Sirius took a deep breath, and really looked the old wizard in the eyes for the first time since the problem had first been mentioned.

There was approval in the old man's eyes.

He didn't need anything else.

Only a bit of approval, once in a while, and his courage would live up to what it was supposed to be. After all, the Black Lord was a Gryffindor. After all, he had always been brave. So why shouldn't he be able to act gamely?

“I don't want Harry to hear what I will say, to be honest. I don't want him to see me like that, using all the slytheriness I dismissed when I chose Gryffindor over my family House. I don't want him to know how much of a monster I can be, or at least, appear to be. But I need him to know I can play a part, I need him to realize I'm not only the maddened escapee from the Shrieking Shack, or the angered man locked up in a house as loathed as it is loved. I... guess I need him to know what I can do in the war, how influential I can be, up to which point I can protect whoever needs protection.”

Sirius heard no answer to his tirade, but he saw the smile on Dumbledore's face, and that was enough.

Enough for now.

Enough to hold on until morning.

Until his trial at nine o'clock tomorrow.

After a while, he stood up from the bed, mirror still in hand.

“Well, headmaster, I believe we will see each other tomorrow. As for myself, I shall watch a magically converted movie Remus left here for me. Apparently, I will 'like the trial at the end so much I will not doubt another instant that tomorrow will be a magnificent day'. The sole fact he wrote that is disturbing enough, but still, I'll give it a try.”

The old wizard simply chuckled in the mirror and finally cut the connection off.

Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, tired but less sad than what was usual since Tom had gone back to terrorizing the wizarding world. He looked around his office, not really paying attention, a bit preoccupied with the upcoming trial. He certainly didn't want to see the young Lord sent back to Azkaban...

Then he thought of the movie Remus had given his friend, and chuckled again.

Since four decades already, he had taken to going to the cinema and watch the most outrageous movies out there, and _The Wall_ certainly had a place amongst these. It was so outrageous even wizards wouldn't have thought of it, and that was saying something.

It was one of the reasons Albus liked muggles so much. They were usually rational over anything else, but the most desperate ones had no limits, they could be pure genius of insanity, if only given the chance. Wizards couldn't do that, too used to the extraordinary. Wizards didn't know how to dream anymore.

One day, he had walked into a cinema, willing to forget, even for only one evening, who he was, and what had happened out there, the deaths, the suffering, the madness, and he had seen _The Wall_. Horrible, in a way. Completely in tune with what had just happened in the wizarding world, in a way. So wrong, and yet so true, in a way. The extravaganza, and the insanity of the wizarding war, in a muggle movie. Not the same story, of course, not the same tragedies. But a world so twisted, it could only be true.

It hadn't been a year since Sirius Black had betrayed them all, when the leader of the Order of the Phoenix had seen that movie. It hadn't been a year that, by a greater madness, a deed no one could have predicted, Lord Voldemort's folly had been brought to an end.

But Sirius had betrayed no one, and in the end, every single one of them had betrayed him.

Here was the real insanity.

“headmaster, the two Longbottoms in St Mungo's seem to have completely recovered.”

The statement, coming from a puzzled Dilys Derwent, whose portrait hanged next to many others on the wall of his office, brought Albus back to the present situation.

Sitting a bit straighter, the current headmaster of Hogwarts looked at his predecessor in her frame.

“Have they, now?”

The witch shrugged, still not really believing what she had heard and seen from her portrait in the hospital. There was no expanation to the couple's sudden and marvelous recovery.

“They have. The Healers were leading them back to the Janus Thickey Ward when I left, apparently having finally convinced the husband, Frank, that he should stay at least for the night, so that they could run some complementary examinations. No one know anything, and that is simply not normal...”

Albus Dumbledore simply smiled at that.

Let the mystery be, only for a moment more.

“Sirius really did the impossible, then.”

Yes, this boy, no, this young man, Lord Black, was incredible. A genius, a humanitarian, if a broken man. And that, that made him priceless. Not only because he would be useful or powerful, but because he could be mended.

Despite all that had happened to him, Sirius Black was still human in his heart.

A mildly irritating voice came from another portrait, and Dumbledore, calm as always, happy for once, and not annoyed in the least, looked at the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black.

“What is it about my great-grandson doing something incredible?”

There was sarcasm in the wizard's voice, but at the same time, a strange and wry smile was making its way on his lips.

Albus took a second to consider the inquiry, wondering absently if the unpleasant former headmaster was actually complaining or not. After all, Phineas could pretend all he wanted, the wizard still cared, if not about Sirius, at least about the Blacks. And for now, the current Lord Black was the only one who could pass down the name of the House of Black.

Phineas Nigellus Black was a cold-hearted man, but he wasn't stupid, and anything great a child of his had done could only shine back on the family, he knew that.

The current Hogwarts headmaster smiled genially at his predecessor, knowing all too well the portrait hated it when he did so.

“Sirius fought off the insanity that had taken up residence in Frank and Alice Logbottom's minds when Bellatrix Lestrange, another one of the Blacks if you recall, Phineas, used the Cruciatus curse on them multiple times, leaving them as good as human vegetables.”

The portrait arched an eyebrow, and Albus noticed many of the other former headmasters and headmistresses listening. They liked gossip as anyone else. Life in a frame, even a magical one allowing them to move from paintings to paintings, might be a bit dull, after all.

“And how did he manage such a feat?”

Dumbledore had his idea about that, but he wasn't going to divulge it before Sirius did so himself.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the old wizard sighed once again. He did that a lot, lately. Tom was making too much of a ruckus, and Albus wasn't as young as he had once been.

Oh how he hoped everything would go right the next day...

For everyone's sake, but for Sirius' before anyone else's.

People who knew the Boy Who Lived and liked him tended to forget about the young Lord when it came to that. But Sirius wasn't only Harry's godfather. He deserved to live, too.

“By being himself, Phineas. Nothing less than incredible.”

 

 


	14. The accused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's coming. Soon, Sirius will be tried. And if I was a cruel woman, I'd send him back to Azkaban. What? Who said I was?  
> Oh, and by the way, Scrimgeour strangely lost his temper today...

The day had come.

And Sirius intended for his trial to be the grandest in the century. The good thing being, obviously, that if he succeeded, there wouldn't be many years to outdo his prowess.

He put his wand in the holster he always had with him, put back in place the sleeve of his robe, if it could really be called that, and started to remember his strategy point after point.

Some might say he was too devil-may-care with the matter, but sincerely, they owed him that. So what if he planned to play the whole court, just because he could, just because he'd love nothing better than to make them speechless and to see them follow his lead blindly? They had taken away his liberty, his life and his mirth for twelve years, because they hadn't deemed necessary to give him this moment the first time. He would have begged for a trial, at the time, but he had known it to be useless. So he had said nothing after the first and only time a man had spat in his face, saying that scum such as himself didn't deserve to be listened to, much less in a trial.

He had had time, years even, to dwell on every reason why he shouldn't have been in Azkaban, accused of such a monstrous treason. He had had time, to remember how unfair it was, how cruel it was, for him to be with the damned dementors, plundering his mind again and again, in search of the worst thoughts he had kept locked away all his life, and, of course, of the resentment and despair he was in because of his unasked for imprisonment. He had had time, confined in Grimmauld Place, to make his case.

And he fully intended to make use of it.

Sirius was a Gryffindor, that was true, but he was as much of a Slytherin, and people too often forgot that. Well, the thing was, they forgot when they knew who he really was, but they hadn't when it had been about him possibly betraying his best friend to a mass murderer. That time, it had all come back to his face, his family, his blood, his name, and every single moment he had shown how cruel and manipulative he could be if he wanted to. That time, there had been no one to stand by his side, for those who would have wanted to weren't suidical.

The young Lord walked to the large mirror to fix his clothing.

It was his trial, and he wanted it to be unforgettable. The less he could do for that was to look stunning and regal. He was Lord Black, and he was going to court to prove how wronged he had been. He couldn't afford to go there in jeans and sneakers.

As usual, his slick black hair was perfectly straight, unhumanly so, James had said one day, but the boy had a nest instead of hair, so Sirius had told him he was only being jealous. No need to take care of that, it was natural.

The young Lord had chosen to wear a not-so-traditional robe, black and of great quality, certainly. The front was closed by three silver lanyards going over his right shoulder. It had no left sleeve and on its left side it didn't go lower than his hip. Silver-threaded on the sides and in elusive patterns, it followed the Black colours, and that was why his mother had reluctantly agreed to have it made for his eighteenth birthday. Of course, he had never seen it, and had been a bit surprised when he had found it hidden in her room.

The shirt he wore under the duel robe was white but with golden hues. The collar and the cuffs were closed by silver fasteners and fanyards. His black pants were threaded at the bottom in silver, in the same patterns as the robe's, and his shoes, black too, were polished.

Perfect. He totally looked the part.

Beware, aristocratic pure-blood coming in.

“Bellatrix?”

The ghost hovered off the painting she had been squinting at, since he had banished her from the bathroom, and looked at him appraisingly.

“ _I don't know if you'll be acquitted, but I can assure you you'll receive marriage contracts this very evening, whether you're sent back to Azkaban or not.”_

She dodged the thrown pillow with dexterity and moved to the relative safety of the ceiling.

“ _All jokes aside, how do you want me to get to the trial? I can't really fly in and say I'm here for the show, can I? Though, I want to enjoy the show...”_

“You're a ghost. Walk through the walls. Or rather, the ground of London, but you get my point.”

Bella rolled her eyes and eventually mock bowed at her cousin, and went off.

“And don't show yourself before I tell you to.”

Sirius sighed, not sure she had heard, but it didn't really matter. Strangely enough, he trusted her not to endanger him by doing as she pleased. To trust Bellatrix of all people! The world was going astray... But the ghost seemed to really care, about him, and about the future of their family, and she certainly didn't hate him anymore. Maybe he was a fool... but he trusted her.

Ten minutes later, the Black Lord left the master room of the manor and went to fetch his two human shadows, one of whom asked why they were leaving so early. The trial wouldn't begin before nine...

Sirius gave them a rare, genuine smile.

“We're going to St. Mungo's. Alice and Frank are completely healed, and I want to see them before... Well, before my fate is decided.”

When they came in the hospital, all heads turned their way, and many people were eyeing the young Lord's clothes with awe. Sirius ignored them all, and walked purposely to the fourth floor.

Outside the Janus Thickey Ward, he heard the soft and welcoming voice of Augusta Longbottom, and instinctively stiffened. She was apparently busy ordering around her son and daughter-in-law as they were packing their things.

Sirius pushed the door hesitantly, and watched the scene without entering.

Frank looked completely distressed under his mother's long forgotten iron ruling, but he was present, and that was so much better than what he had been for the last fifteen years or so, Sirius wasn't going to complain. The former Auror was frequently glancing at his wife, who simply ignored her mother-in-law, too concerned with her crying son for the moment. Augusta was whirling aroung, packing things in their stead, actually, and speaking about everything that had gone to the dogs while Alice and Frank had been... inconscious. Neville, whom Sirius remembered from the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, was buried in his mother's arms. He was sobbing quietly, if the tremor of his back was anything to go by, and the Black Lord caught a glimpse of something that looked like a candy wrapper clutched in one of his hands.

Sirius was already closing the door to leave them to their reunion, but Frank noticed the movement and recognized him. For a second, their eyes met, and the young Lord saw the conflict in the man's eyes.

Was it because of the last they had heard of him, before their sanity had been taken away? Was it because they remembered he was the one who had gotten them back? Was it because they had understood who the ghostly figure next to him had been, back then?

Were they still doubting him?

Sirius smiled sadly, and, a finger against his lips, he proceeded to close the door and leave.

Frank, seeing his way out of his mother's tyranny escaping, ran through the ward and jumped on the door that he drew wide-open. Two mediwitchs let out a shrill cry in suprise, and Augusta Longbottom ceased her complaining. Alice simply looked up while her son stopped crying and let his curiosity get the better of him.

Sirius, on the other side of the door, had stopped moving, and maybe, breathing, he wasn't sure.

Dawlish and Moody Jr. had taken their wands out, but soon let it go, as they eyed their former senior suspiciously. Dawlish was surely wishing for Frank to jump at his charge's throat and kill him for whatever reason he could have, such as, your-cousin-did-this-to-me-you-bastard, but unfortunately, it never happened. Julius Moody was an inch away from asking the former Aurors their autograph.

Seeing how he had startled everyone, Frank calmed down a bit.

“Sirius, come in, come in. We heard of what happened... But why are you all dressed up?”

“I don't want to intrude, I'll come back later...”

The former Auror gripped the young Lord's left arm.

“You're not weaseling your way out of this one, mate. Last time we were able to understand a thing, you were hauled off to Azkaban for slaughtering a street, and when your lovely cousin tortured us into insanity, she constantly mocked us, saying about you that we had been well played. The thing is, she never said you were one of them, only that we were wrong about you, and it seemed to amuse her to no end that you were making buddies with dementors.”

Sirius paled at that, as he wondered how exactly the Longbottoms were going to take the news about Bella's ghostly return.

“Did she? Well, she's not wrong... since everyone believed me to be guilty when I was not.”

Everyone in the room was intently listening, and Sirius tried not to be too disturbed by the attention. He'd face worse in less than an hour, but it wasn't exactly the same thing. He simply wasn't ready yet... and he didn't want to play Frank and Alice, so it was completely different.

“Anyway, my trial is next hour, and I'd better be on my way...”

Frank gave him a look, finally getting why he was he was so grandly clothed.

“They had said something about you never having a trial, but I couldn't believe they would never, as in never ever, give you one...”

And he shot an accusatory glare at Dawlish and Moody Jr.

Once again, Sirius tried to leave, but once again, he was stopped, this time by Alice, who had walked to him and her husband.

She spoke softly, not wanting to be overheard by the people in the room. The patients weren't a big deal, most of them being quite unable to understand a thing, but the mediwitchs, healers and the two Aurors could be bad news if they managed to understand what was going to be talked about.

“Sirius, why did you do it?”

The young Lord stared at her, not understanding what she was talking about. The question could have been about Wormtail, James, and his supposed betrayal, but she didn't seem angry, so she certainly didn't believe it at all. Aside from that...

But no, her tone was gentle, grateful even, but a bit pitying too, and certainly scared.

“Why did you take us back, when you knew it could send you right back to the dementors?”

Sirius said nothing for a while, analyzing his friends' faces. And when he finally talked, his tone was a bit dull, a bit too neutral to be honest.

“You remember.”

“I do.”

Alice knew he had been the one to free her mind, and worse, she knew how he had done it. She didn't hold a grudge against him for that, because it would have been unwarranted. He had saved her and her husband. He had given them back to their family. He had hurt no one in the process.

But he had used an Unforgivable, and Alice was worried of what would happen to him if the word got out. It might not matter to them, how he had done it, because he hadn't done anything wrong, but it could be used against him. And some people wouldn't think twice about doing exactly that. To them, Sirius Black was too much of threat to be allowed to remain free, and that statement was true... for both sides in the war.

“I do too.”

Frank looked grave, all of a sudden, as he remembered how his friend had gotten to him, days before. He had already been subjected to the Imperius curse, and he had recognized the feeling. He had recognized the orders, and he hadn't fought them, for he had recognized his friend, and he had known the orders weren't to control him, but to help him.

There was nothing to blame Sirius for, and still, both Longbottoms knew people would blame him.

And the young Lord knew very well what the married couple was thinking.

So Sirius gave them a bright, gentle smile.

“Don't worry about it.”

“How could we not?! You saved us from a life-time of insanity, and you did it by putting yourself in danger! You can't expect us to sit down and watch as they'll...”

Sirius put his finger against his lips once again, and nodded at the people listening. It wasn't the place nor the time to talk about his use of an Unforgivable. And if they were going to do that anyway, they'd better to do it discreetly.

“As I said, I have it all under control. No one will ever find out, because I'm going to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, during my upcoming trial. I won't let them have a chance to dig up a dark secret from my past, because I will be giving them all on a silver platter. There is nothing like honesty.”

And indeed, he was being honest right now. A bit too honest, maybe.

Alice squinted her eyes and looked at him, as if accessing his level of madness.

“Are you crazy?”

See, exactly what he had surmised.

“Why, of course it is a yes! Now, I will be leaving you to your family reunion, I have a case to win.”

And with that, Sirius tried to walk away. Unfortunately for him, the Longbottoms had been unable to act for too many years, and so didn't feel like letting anyone have their way if it wasn't the same as theirs.

Frank and Alice shared a look, and then looked at Augusta and Neville. The old woman nodded her understanding. Then the couple went after their friend, unwilling to let him get away so easily. Augusta and their son would join them at the Ministry, once they'd be done with getting their things back to Longbottom Castle.

Sirius walked out of the Janus Thickey Ward, and made his way for a good ten minutes. Then, he abruptly turned on his heels and sent a withering glare to his stubborn friends who were following him closely. Of course, neither Frank nor Alice flinched, and they simply returned his glare.

Julius, who was just behind the group of former Aurors / Auror-in-training with Dawlish, stopped in his tracks and waited to see how this would unfold. He hadn't noticed before that, but they were quite a strange sight. And the people they crossed path with usually let them plenty of room to move upon seeing them. As if they were too odd a company to approach.

Out of the five of them, there were four pure-bloods, two of which had spent years in St. Mungo's, while another one had spent years in Azkaban. They had all been associated with the Auror Office at some point, Julius and Dawlish because they were Aurors, the Longbottoms because they had been well known Aurors, and Black because he had been the star trainee as soon as he had joined. They were supposedly elite.

While the two current Aurors were wearing efficient and unremarkable clothing, Alice and Frank Longbottom had simple navy blue robes for they were just leaving the hospital, and Black was plainly stunning. He radiated amongst them, and no one missed his tall frame and slender built.

Black stayed silent for a while, staring at the former Aurors.

Finally, he asked, holding his voice low but nonetheless quite intimidating:

“What exactly do you think you're doing?”

“Following you to this damned trial.”

“You won't.”

“We will.”

The wizards and the witch went on glaring at each other for quite a while, and in the end, Julius forced a cough to stop their contest of might.

Black slowly turned his head towards the young Auror, who almost shrank at the malicious glint in the man's eyes. Still, he didn't.

“Lord Black, I'm afraid we ought to be moving. It will do you no good if you arrive late at your own trial, and I believe there is a potion you wish to have tested before it begins.”

The wizard stared at him for a second, then relaxed.

“Moody Jr. is right.”

There he turned back to the Longbottoms, and gave them a stern look that could almost have competed with McGonagall's. But as far as Julius was concerned, the young Auror was too disturbed by the side glances he had received when Black had used his newfound nickname.

“We got to move, and you can do whatever you want. But don't go and blast my whole strategy because you fear for my head. I'm good enough to handle myself in front of the Wizengamot, thank you very much.”

Julius was surprised to see Alice Longbottom arch an eyebrow at the reprimand. Her and her husband seemed to be quite surprised with the seriousness of the Black Lord, as if they were expecting him to be much more difficult to handle. But after all, the young man hadn't spent much time with Black, and yet what he had seen was enough for him to say the man was unpredictable. One moment he could be playful or full of sarcasm, and the other he was freezing people on the spot with just one look.

Frank snorted quietly, probably not to be heard by his friend.

But of course, it didn't work, and Sirius was glaring back at him alone the next second. Strangely, Sirius felt like he was glaring quite a lot this morning.

“Frank. Would you mind sharing with the class, perhaps?”

And instead of looking ashamed, and why would he, after all, he wasn't in shool anymore, Frank only snorted louder.

Great, Sirius thought, the guy was just back from the land of the insane ones, and he was already grating on his nerves.

“You want us to believe you're not planning to sacrifice your freedom only so that you can get a chance to shock everyone, and ashame them, and frighten them, and make them feel as worthless as they are? We know you, Sirius, you will destroy all those who dare to go against you, even if it means you'll be destroyed alongside them. But here, it's a Wizengamot court trial, not some school skirmish. They won't take well to you bringing them down to the mud.”

Everyone seemed to share the former Auror's point of view, even Dawlish, though he himself did hope that statement to come true so that the Black Lord would be thrown back in jail.

Everyone, except Sirius, obviously.

“And so what? Would you have liked it better to continue laying up there in vegetable state? I did what I did, and I will say the truth no matter what. If the members of the Wizengamot are too near-sighted to see that and they condenm me once more, if they are unable to understand how much mistrust I have in all of them after what the Ministry, after what the wizarding community did to me, if they are unwilling to comprehend that despite everything, I still wish to stand for them, they deserve my anger. If they aren't, they won't have to witness it, or at least, to witness it directed at them. I gave up everything, when I could have had everything, for our equality. I was a Black, I am a Black, and that meant the world during the war, but where was I? I was battling against those who bore names such as mine, against those who would have treated me as nobility if I had joined them, and for that, I at most received suspicious or hainous glances, and from both sides at that! I did what I had to do, I tried being nice, and it cost me all that I had not yet given up. Hope! Friends! Family! Dignity! I tried being a proper good guy, at least while in public, and it earned me nothing.”

The young Lord's voice had not raised a decibel during his tirade, but those who could hear him weren't fooled by his restraint. Sirius Black was furious, and for once, he was letting his resentment be seen. They knew he could have hidden it, as he always did, but somehow, he had decided them trustworthy enough to see a glimpse of the hatred he harboured.

“As of now, I will be who I am, and I won't feel sorry for those who can't take it. You, Frank, and you, Alice, you know who I really am. Once, I tried to tame myself when in public, so that people would trust me. The good it did me! Despite all my efforts, they never saw past my name. I won't make that error again. I am nothing to be ashamed of, and they will see. Not every good man is grandfatherly like Dumbledore.”

Frank said nothing to that. He had nothing to say.

But it wasn't Alice's case.

The witch didn't think her friend was right or wrong. She only wanted to be sure he had considered all options and consequences, before throwing himself to a possible death. Of course, she believed he had done so. Sirius Black wasn't an idiot, far from it. If people sometimes believed him thoughtless, it was only because he allowed them to. But as it happened rage could blind even the wisest, and while the young Lord was some sort of genius, he was also hot blooded. Most of the time, he could keep it under control.

Most of the time.

Sirius knew that very well too. The Wormtail fiasco, the Whomphing Willow incident, and two or three other times, such as what had happened when he had been seven years old, were times he hadn't managed to maintain control over his temper.

Or, more accurately, times he had knowingly allowed this control to disappear.

Eitherway, he wouldn't go wild this time. Quite the contrary, actually. He'd just be the cold, calculating, cruel man he could be. It was also one of the reason he was venting out his anger right now. Better safe than sorry.

Better now than later.

Better with friends than with foes.

And Alice knew that. She knew that no matter how fearsome the Black Lord would be during his trial, he wouldn't act as he was acting right now. She didn't fear for such a thing to happen.

The witch only wanted her friend to be safe, and so, she felt she needed to ask.

Or rather, to point out.

“If you fail, they'll send you back to Azkaban.”

Something akin to laughter flickered on Sirius' face, but he contained himself.

Still, his answer shocked everyone into hearing range nonetheless.

“I escaped once. I'll do it again.”

And the wizard only left them there, rooted to the ground.

Bitterish Dawlish was certainly wondering how mad and crazy and touched and cracked he was, Moody Jr. surely had stars in his eyes, and Alice and Frank were definitely thinking of a way to gag him during the whole trial without anyone noticing, because they were quite certain he was going right to his downfall.

Frankly, Sirius didn't care right now. They wouldn't do it, Julius was no threat, and Dawlish could go and hang himself for all he cared. He had decided not to mention escaping Azkaban again in front of Aurors, sure, but well, it wasn't as if they could do much damage now, could they? He would be in court in less than one hour, and he hadn't exactly told them how he thought he was going to do such a thing. For all they knew, he could have been bragging.

Having to wait for them at the hospital's entrance, Sirius put this time to good use, and calmed down quite a bit. Not that anyone had noticed how upset he had been, for he was incredibly great at masking his feelings. Black quality, once again.

When the Longbottoms, Julius and Dawlish finally joined him, everyone in the entrance of St. Mungo's was a respectful distance away from the Black Lord, watching him wordlessly as he stood alone. Seeing the people who joined him, seeing as they left together, whispers began to grow.

No one ignored what day it was. No one ignored what would come to pass during the following hours. If there was one thing no one knew, it was what would come out of this day.

They entered the Ministry of Magic by the visitors' entrance, even if the Aurors and former Aurors could easily have transplaned inside without anyone bothering them for it. Even Sirius, as Lord Black, technically had the right to do so. The only thing was that between theory and facts, there sometimes was an entire world.

Still, Sirius refused to wear the bagde that was given to him. It wasn't as if anyone ignored what he was here for. So he just put the badge in his pocket, no matter what the others tried to convince him with.

In the Ministry too, everyone was staring, not only at the Black Lord, but at the Longbottoms with him. Firstly, because they were up and about and didn't look like demented people at all. Then, because they were with Sirius freaking Black, and no one knew what to make of it. Were they friends? Had he played them too, or was that another proof of his innocence? And well, all these fine persons were arguing over a badge in the middle of the Atrium.

Eventually Sirius had to surrender his wand, not that he did this out of good will, and he made his way to the court room that would hold his trial.

On the way he found Remus who was waiting patiently with Snape's sinemendatium. He had no time to greet all those he recognized formerly, and no wish to do so. But he nodded politely to Theodore and Eleanor Rowle. The reason the wizard was here was obvious. He was a Lord, he had a seat in the Wizengamot. His niece seemed to have taken an interest in his case, so her presence wasn't surprising either. Sirius smirked at Tonks, who sticked out her tongue in answer, while Andromeda rolled her eyes and Ted hid a laugh. The young Lord acknowledged the presence of other members of the Order of the Phoenix, and he couldn't refrain himself from noticing their greetings to be quite stiff. Mad-Eye grunted something incomprehensible in a perfectly-Moody-fashion that made Sirius smile. He didn't catch sight of Harry, and wasn't surprised. Dumbledore had surely planned it so the boy would already be inside when the bulk of the crowd had arrived.

“There not much difference between black and dark.”

Sirius turned to the wizard who had sneered the veiled insult.

His eyes met those of Benjamin Abbot, one of the rare half-blooded Lords. The House of Abbot was an old wizarding family, and while they had been pure-bloods for centuries, the previous Lord had married a muggle, to the great dismay of most of the Noble and Ancient Houses. Sirius could hear his mother sneering about it even now.

Not that his mother's prejudices were the least of the young Lord's worries right now.

Abbot had just accused him of being dark, in masked words, yes, but it was still there.

Not that Sirius wasn't dark. The only thing was, he didn't use his darkness to do evil, and that had to count for something, hadn't it?

But the Abbot Lord wanted to play on colors and names? Names, he couldn't do anything about. It wasn't as if the wizard was a Slytherin or a Bones. There was no good pun to do with his name, except maybe with abortion, and Sirius felt it wasn't a good idea to use that. But as for colors...

The man shouldn't have been wearing what he had chosen to wear. Really, did wizarding people have no idea of what elegance was?

Sirius smiled coldly at Benjamin Abbot, and somehow, the wizard figured he wasn't going to like what was about to be said.

“And your orange necktie does not match very well with you plum robes.”

Abbot blinked.

The two who were with him snorted lightly at the Black Lord's reply.

“I beg your pardon?”

Sirius smiled again, as unfriendly as before, even though he was perfectly polite and well mannered.

“So sorry, I thought we were talking about colors.”

The Abbot Lord stayed silent, unable to think of any comeback.

Meanwhile, Sirius had spotted someone making rudely their way towards him. He frowned, and as soon as he recognized a journalist from _Witch Weekly_ , the young man evaded the upcoming words attack by entering the back room where he had to go before the beginning of the trial. Moody Jr. and Dawlish went in with him and closed the door behind them.

There were now eight persons in the little room: Sirius himself, the five Aurors that had been assigned to him, since Savage was back from his trip to the hospital, Scrimgeour who had graced them with his presence and was looking intently at the Black Lord, and an employee sitting behind a desk. The wizard looked up to him only once, and started checking paperwork.

“Ah, Lord Black. Right on time. You gave your wand for safekeeping at the reception, I believe? Good, good. Now, if you could sign here and here, there it is, thank you very much... Just wait a minute, I see you asked for the authentification and use of a truth serum?”

As the man talked, Sirius did as he was told. He felt an increasing need to throw the inkwell at Dawlish, who was upsetting nearly everyone as he mock whispered what he surmised the outcome of the trial to be. Thankfully, the young Lord could rein in the urge easily enough, and did nothing with it. But he would have loved to, no doubt about that.

Sirius took the form he had filled out two days before and verified it was the same. He certainly didn't want to have an official complaint later on because there had been an error in the documents.

“That's right. Sinemendatium.”

And he handed said serum to the wizard for him to do what he had to do.

The man frowned a bit as he looked at the potion, knowing now for certain that it hadn't been a joke, and somehow the Black Lord had found hellhounds' hairs. After that he opened the small red bottle, and poured ten drops in a wooden cap. Gulch pushed Dawlish aside to see better. She always had had a particular interest in potions, and sinemendatium wasn't one she had believed she'd ever get to see. The man searched for the right page in his book on truth serums, and when he found it, he put the tip of his wand right above the liquid and muttered a “ _Manifestatio_ ” that turned it almost black. The serum began to sputter shimmering purple bubbles. The man nodded to himself, and took a dried tadpole which he dipped into the potion. The effects were immediate: the tadpole turned into a dice. Sirius didn't stop in search for logic in that.

The wizard ended the reaction with a clean _finite incantatem_ , the dice rolled under the desk as Savage managed to ram his left foot against it, and Scrimgeour frowned as he wondered what exactly the Black Lord was planning. It wasn't as if the man didn't have secrets to protect, even if he had really been innocent. Everybody had secrets. That was the exact reason why even the innocents usually didn't ask to further their defence with a truth potion.

And Scrimgeour knew that, no matter what Black was, whether he was guilty or innocent, no Lord ever agreed to be questionned under a truth serum.

“All is well, Lord Black. Your potion is receivable, and as you requested, you'll be able to explain its utilization before the court. I must warn you, though, that sinemendatium is a tricky potion. As I'm sure you already know, my examination of it only ensure its authenticity and that no tampering has been done on it. However, the time frame this serum is viable is extremely short, and consuming it too late ends the same way it does when one drinks a tampered sinemendatium. I hope you are sure of its viability. Your life hangs in the balance, after all.”

The wizard waved his wand one last time, over the bottle this time, and a plum-colored clip sealed it for later proof that the contents hadn't been changed between the check and the consumption.

Sirius took back the bottle and thanked the wizard, assuring once more there was nothing to fear from the serum. He ignored the gasps of horror he heard coming from the Aurors as they understood why exactly he had interrupted Julian Swain two days before.

Before leaving the small room, the Ministry employee added:

“I will come before the Wizengamot to ascertain that this potion has been checked and found efficient. Then you'll get to talk, and after that, to drink it.”

As soon as he was gone, Scrimgeour was at Sirius' throat, and it was unclear whether he wanted to throttle him or simply to shake him like a rag doll.

“What is it, Black? Do you think it clever, to use such a thing? What is it?! Did you find a way to tamper with the potion and think you'll get away with it? Maybe you'd like to get killed by this potion, and then everyone will claim it's our fault if you died? Well, no luck, Black, but you won't die today, and you'll spend the rest of your miserable life in a cell guarded by five dementors if I have anything to say about it!”

When Flume and Julius finally succeeded in making the Minister for Magic let go, Sirius was a bit disheveled, but he had an incredible smirk on his face.

“Minister, I am innocent. And I will prove it.”

He took to step back from the angered wizard who had trouble keeping his calm.

“Azkaban will see no more of me.”

Scrimgeour looked murderous, but he left without another word. The Aurors exchanged equivocal glances. Sirius straightened his hair back in place, and waited. His smile never left his lips after this incident, and until the employee from before came back and told him it was time.

The young Lord got up, stretched, and passed the door heading to the courtroom, now open.

Unlike for Harry's disciplinary farce, Sirius was in one of the currently used courtrooms. The place was dark, well lit but with walls of black stone, that looked a bit blue under the light of a huge chandelier that was hanging from the ceiling. The light didn't reach the depth of all the niches.

Everyone was already inside.

The members of the Wizengamot all had their plum-colored robes on, the Lords and Ladies of the Noble and Ancient Houses as well as the appointed representatives of the Ministry and the people. Scrimgeour and his Advisor, his Senior Undersecretary and his Junior Assistant were sitting on the benches right behind the desk of the new head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Pius Thicknesse. Dumbledore wasn't at his usual seat, the place of Chief Warlock having been offered for this special occasion to a witch well know for her impartiality, Emilia Croyne. The woman was in her sixties, and had always been Dumbledore's replacement when the headmaster had been unable to preside the trials he was supposed to attend, that is, those for which the whole Wizengamot was called, such as Sirius'. Thirty-two heads of House were sitting on the benchs on the other side of the room. Of course, the seats of the Black Lord, the Lestranges', the Drennans' and the Potters' were empty. The seven representatives of the people, designated for a two years period, were sitting on the row of benches below the Lords' and Ladies'.

In front of the accused, whose chair was in the back of the room and only one foot away from the dark wall, were the spectators. Just to make sure they stayed silent, there was a permanent silencing charm cast on the seats, that caused any sound produced there to disappear. The Wizengamot had decided it necessary after an argument between two spectators that had gotten out of hand. Now, unless they knew sign language, the spectators could try to talk, they wouldn't be able to even begin an argument. Some thought it abusive. Others thought it necessary.

The first row of benches in the spectators' gallery was reserved to the family of the defendant, and Harry was there, with Andromeda, Ted, Dora, and, surprisingly, Narcissa, who stayed as far way as she could from her niece. Still, Sirius could see some envy on her face as she glanced at her sister, and fear as she looked back at the heads of House on her left. Even coming here, and sitting on the benches reserved to the family, had certainly been a difficult decision to take.

Sirius shot a searing glare at Lord Goyle, who was not-so-discreetly growling at his cousin. The man wasn't much brighter than his predecessor, and the only reason he wasn't in Azkaban with his dear friend Crabbe was that he hadn't been sent by Voldepants to the Department of Mysteries. It took only three seconds for the man to feel the death glare he was on the receiving end of, and once their eyes met, the Lord of the House of Goyle suddenly looked elsewhere.

Andromeda smirked in her seat as she saw this.

Harry waved discreetly at his godfather, completely ill-at-ease with the many looks he had been getting. But now that the man of the day had come in, people weren't so interested in him anymore, and the teenager felt a bit better, even though at Sirius' expense. The Black Lord didn't seem to mind at all, in fact.

Sirius' eyes then went to the higher benches, and he rolled his eyes as he saw journalists in sheer number. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was certainly repenting already to have made the trial public, but if they hadn't, they'd have had to deal with the newfound desire for knowledge of the wizarding community about the Black case.

Still, he smiled genuinely when he locked eyes with Mad-Eye, Remus, Hermione Granger and the Weasleys, who had all come for the occasion. Augusta, Neville and Alice Longbottom had joined them, and the photojournalists were all trying to get a good shot of the former Auror.

He was glad they had come for him, and he only hoped he wouldn't disappoint them.

At least, not by going back to Azkaban.

As a human being, it was another story.

Sirius looked back to the Houses' tribune.

Lords and Ladies were there, all of them, except those that were in Azkaban and hadn't any family to take the headship. Sirius was pleased to notice that Septimus Malfoy had taken over Lucius' Lordship. The man, at least, wasn't a blood supremacist, even if he was a bit prejudiced. If he remembered well, the wizard had a squib son...

There had been many changes in headship after the arrest of the Death Eaters during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Macnair, Avery and Nott had been their Houses' Lords, and with their emprisonment, they had been replaced by other family members. Those he knew, yet couldn't prove, to be Death Eaters were either sneering at Sirius, or furiously evading his gaze.

The Lord of the House of Black gave them his most freezing smile, and no one taunted him with a snide look again. They didn't like to remember that he was not on their side and a Black. Too dangerous an ennemy, too powerful an opponent. Better to ignore it.

Towards the Lords and Ladies whom he appreciated, Sirius only nodded in acceptance of their judgment. Theodore Rowle and the newly returned Frank Longbottom were there...

Last but not least, Sirius Black looked at the ones who were supposed to lead this audience.

Then he sat in the seat of the accused.

 

 


	15. The weight of their mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial begins. I don't know if you'll like it. But I really needed to see Sirius get everything he had off his chest and shove it in everyone's faces. So it's mostly him talking, and the reactions. I think the trial will last for about three chapters. I hope you'll like it. If not... Well, good luck with that. I want to write it, and I'll do it.
> 
> Also, I'm aware it certainly doesn't follow the trial procedure of any country. But this is the Wizengamot court, and not a court we know of. If anything, I'll quote Hagrid and his ""Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. " Which means, wizards don't live as we do.  
> Hermione also said wizards usually weren't logical. At all.  
> And lastly, imagine Draco's reaction to being compared to muggles and their ways.
> 
> Anyway, the only glimpse we had of audiences and trials in HP are either to short, or twisted ones. We can't say much from the memories of the Death Eaters' trials, and for Harry's disciplinary audience... well, the Chief Warlock had been dismissed, and Fudge was trying to burry Harry's side of the story. I don't believe that is a good example of the usual procedures.

 

Emilia Croyne went to the seat of the Chief Warlock. Looking uninterested, she glanced at Albus Dumbledore, the actual Chief Warlock, and she wondered why exactly the old wizard had deemed it inappropriate for him to preside this trial. Yes, everyone knew he personally was in favor of the Black Lord, but she trusted him not to let it matter. And it wasn't as if the Chief Warlock had any part to play in the sentencing.

Croyne looked around the room she was facing, and at the people who were waiting intently for her to begin the trial.

Lastly, her eyes fell on Sirius Black, who was looking her in the eyes.

She could see sheer determination in those eyes.

The question was, determination about what?

The witch cleared her throat, took the gavel and made it sound through the room.

"Trial of Sirius Orion Black, Lord of the House of Black, concerning the treason of James, Lily and Harry Potter to a specific dark lord no one is willing to name. As requested by the defendant, the charges will concern not only the said treason, but also other offenses, so that the number of trials will not be piling up. In compensation to the short notice of such a trial, an agreement has been reached with the defendant that he will not be held accountable for any known offense that will have been forgotten to be considered during the trial."

Some amongst the public eyed the accused warily, but he only gave them a lazy smile to think upon. The witch couldn't say she approved of the bargain that had been made with Black, for it could let him get away with many things if he succeeded in confusing everyone, which he certainly was going to do. But at the same time, she understood. She had been appalled when she had heard of the short notice of the trial. What Scrimgeour was doing was... disloyal.

Sirius Black had been jailed for years, chased down for months, and finally unconscious for days, and he was given, what, five days?, to prepare for a trial that would determine his fate? That was simply scandalous.

The man was only ensuring that the Ministry wouldn't argue in the near future over what would already be decided. He could be trying to save his hide. Or maybe he was plainly watching his back.

Such a short notice wasn't reglementary and the Black Lord could have protested. But he hadn't, and for that, Scrimgeour owed him one. The Minister for Magic could consider himself lucky the accused had requested only that.

Croyne locked her gaze with Sirius Black's, not that he had tried to avoid it before. She had a pretty dumb question to ask now, but it was the procedure.

"Are you Sirius Orion Black, Lord of the House of Black?"

The wizard answered her calmly, and no one would have thought the outcome of the trial really mattered, when looking at him. As if he was confident enough... or didn't care in the least.

"Yes. My name is indeed Sirius Orion Black."

"It is to my understanding that you asked for the use of a truth potion during this trial, Lord Black. Do you still wish to proceed?"

Several gasps were heard from the Lords and Ladies sitting opposite to Emilia Croyne. She didn't bother to look at them. She had a good enough idea why they'd be reacting like that. Hell, she had reacted just the same way when she had been presented the request.

Lords didn't approve of the use of truth serums in trial. They never had, never did, and never would.

And still, Sirius Black had decided that the truth was worth it, in a way.

Croyne gestured for someone to open a door, and the employee who had authentified the potion earlier went in, asked the Black Lord for the bottle, confirmed that the seal hadn't been broken since his examination of the potion, and assured everyone of the validity of the sinemendatium.

Croyne noticed the shifting in the public, though, obviously, she couldn't hear a thing of what was uselessly muttered there. Those who knew about the potion were surely wondering where Black had got hellhounds' hairs.

The substitute Chief Warlock then looked at the accused, enjoining him silently to make his speech about the serum he was going to use. After all, the man had asked to do it himself, and they didn't have all day.

Well, maybe they had, it was an important trial, after all...

Sirius stood from his chair, and gave the room a circular look before slowly raising his hand, and in his hand, the small bottle of sinemendatium.

"This is a truth potion called sinemendatium. Some of you may think it isn't possible for me to have it, since the potion quickly lose all powers, in a matter of hours, actually, and one of the main ingredients has disappeared from the surface of the Earth decades ago. But the truth is, hellhounds are not instinct. There are some left in Transylvania... and at Black Manor."

The wizard smirked as the eyes of a journalist almost bulged out of his face.

More accurately, he smirked inwardly.

Hell, he loved it when he made people speechless.

"Now, to move on onto more serious issues, I wish to warn you about my use of this truth potion. Firstly, it is in no way a guarantee of truthfulness. Sinemendatium, unlike veristaserum, does not force one to answer truthfully to any question. What this particular potion do is making you unable to lie. But you can still hold back truths. You can twist the words in making them sound better, and yet no less true. You can't hold for honest what I will reveal under its power. Yet you can hold it for true."

The young Lord caught the eyes of some doubtful spectators, who, if not for the silencing charm, would have told him their opinion on the subject in an angry tone.

"It is one of the reasons I chose this potion over veritaserum. We all have things we would rather keep secret, and that have nothing to do with our presence here. Veritaserum invade your privacy, sinemendatium does not. But it isn't the only reason I asked for it: sinemendatium is an extremely fickle serum. If one drinks a potion that is over twenty-three hours of making, or if one drink a tampered potion, one will, plainly said, 'drop dead'. 'One' being, in this particular case, myself."

People were taking notes, making sure to research the truthfulness of his words once the trial would be finished, as if they couldn't trust the expertise of the Ministry employee from earlier.

Sirius didn't glance to the Lords of Slytherin schooling, but he would have loved to. He had to appear uncaring, and for that, he couldn't go around all good-natured and loving the butterflies.

Still, he could see, in the corner of his eye, how those snakes took his strategy. Many of them were growing uncomfortable, as they understood what he was doing. They didn't like it. They didn't like the way he was capturing even their attention. They didn't like to feel that he had grabbed a hold over them, even when they were aware of what he was doing. They didn't like how easily one could fall to the young Lord Black.

"You can be certain this potion has not been tampered with, for I am far from being suicidal. And even if I was, you'll see it for yourself. I will tell you the truth, and nothing else. But I ask you to remember that nothing will force me to say the whole truth. I ask you to remember that there is always a way, maybe unknown as of yet, but real, and so discoverable, to tamper with a truth serum. I ask you to hold onto your mistrust. Why?, you may ask. The reason is simple. We are not in a time of peace, and foolish trust will save no one in the future."

Sirius looked at the heads of Houses as he spoke, but he wasn't talking to them only. Since he was here, since so many people were listening to him, for once, he could at least try to make them understand.

"I want your trust. I want to be believed. I want my liberty back. I want what I deserve, what everybody deserves when they come to life, whether they are pure-bloods or muggle-borns, half-bloods or even muggles and squibs. We are human, magic or not. We are alive, and we deserve to stay so as long as fate deems it necessary."

Some people shifted on their seat. Surely ones who felt mixed about their prejudices, not quite sure where they stood, on which side of the bridge they were. Individuals who, most of the time, worked against their prejudices, trying, oh really, trying to ignore them, to act without them, not to let them be known to everyone, but in the end, who still were prejudiced. They knew it, they fought it, and sometimes, rarely of course, time and proofs that they weren't better or lesser than anyone else closed the gap of partiality in their heart. Let the bias disappear with time and reason.

"I want real trust for me and my story. And for you to trust me, I guess honesty is the only solution. This truth serum is a given of my good will, but I don't want you to believe I rely on it only. I will tell you the truth, and you will listen to me, this time."

Unlike what you did the other time.

And so he did drink the sinemendatium, and turned the bottle upside down for everyone to see it was now empty. Then he sat down.

Croyne cleared her throat and gathered the public's attention once again.

"The charges against the accused shall now be read into the record: that the accused did with deliberation and fore-knowledge of the illegality of his actions give away the secret of which he was the keeper to Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, leading to the death of James and Lily Potter, Lord and Lady of the Noble and Ancient House of Potter, and the attempted murder of their son Harry, on the thirty-first of October, 1981. That the accused did kill the wizard Peter Pettigrew and twelve muggles within full sight of other muggles with a blasting spell, on the first of November, 1981. That the accused did escape from the Azkaban prison when he had been sentenced to life imprisonment, on the twenty-third of July, 1993. That the accused did trespass onto the Hogwarts grounds several times during the following year. That the accused did escape from governmental custody, on the sixth of June, 1994. That the accused did kill the witch Bellatrix Lestrange with the use of the Dark Arts, on the eighteenth of June, 1996."

The witch looked up from her list of charges and met Sirius' eyes.

He smiled.

This was going to be so much fun...

"Sirius Black, do you plead guilty or not guilty when confronted with those accusations?"

The young Lord shifted to be more comfortably seated.

"I plead not guilty concerning the following offenses: I did not betray James and Lily Potter; I did not kill Peter, though I had every intention to do so; I did not kill twelve muggles, though I had intended to use magic within full sight of muggles."

Sirius paused there, and looked at his audience. He was a bit curious to see the reactions of those who had denied him any form of defense, years ago. But he couldn't afford to look hopeful or even interested. It might have endangered his strategy...

And it wasn't a big deal.

He wasn't hopeful.

He wasn't interested.

At least, not in the way they'd think him to be.

At best, he could be said to be curious.

At worst, he could be considered vengeful.

He wanted to see their confidence in the rightness of their decisions collapse. He wanted to see their complacency waver, and eventually sink under the weight of their mistakes. He wanted those people to feel the shame they had tried to cast upon him when they had thought him a traitor.

They might not have faith in the use of a truth serum. They may try to explain his declarations of innocence on the mind arts. They could not trust his honesty.

He didn't care.

He was right. They were wrong. He was loyal. They had been wrong. And if he was to be sent back to Azkaban, then they'll stay wrong and there was nothing he could do about it.

Well, he could do nothing to force their brains to see the truth in his eyes, but he could force them to see the truth in the facts.

Sirius carved their faces, all of them, into his memory. He engraved the disbelieving, the condescending, the hateful and the calculating faces to remember them later, once they'd have understood how wrong they had aways been about him, how he had humiliated their beliefs for some of them, how much he hated them, and still, how he was willing to look past the hatred they had given him. He incised the insure faces, to make sure he wouldn't be so harsh with those that had, at least, believed he could maybe be saying the truth. He etched the accusing faces of those who had faith in him and were always more angry as they heard and saw the faces of the others, even if he could see concern in their eyes, for he wanted to witness them smile at the end, and he wanted to see this particular worry leave their faces.

"I plead guilty of escaping from a prison where I wasn't even a proper convict. I plead guilty of entering Hogwarts grounds in the search of the traitor who stole the lives of my best friends, the childhood of my godson, and twelve years of my liberty, to prevent him from further damaging the aforementioned godson's life. I plead guilty of escaping the clutch of a government that refused to even hear me out and had decided I was to be given the dementor's Kiss. I plead guilty of defending my life with the Dark Arts and thus ending the life of my attacker."

Harry listened to his godfather, and felt strange. Since Sirius had started talking, he had noticed that almost everyone was reacting strongly to his speech. Some were shifting on their seats. Others were visibly tensing. And the ones who believed in Sirius were either very surprised by his gift in leading his audience wherever he wanted, or smiling a bit smugly. Andromeda Black was one of those, and her smirk was oddly comforting.

She wasn't the most disturbing person on their bench, though. Harry could clearly see Narcissa Malfoy trying to hide a fond smile as she listened to her cousin. And he didn't miss how each time her lips tugged into a visible smile, fully letting go of the unpleasant scowl he had noticed during the World Cup, the witch glanced worriedly at the tribune of the Lords and morphed her face back into a mask of coldness.

That was disturbing, really.

Harry looked back at Sirius, who was serious as hell and whose gaze seemed to be poisonous for some reason, as most people had started sweating each time his eyes fell on them.

The young Lord Black turned once again to Emilia Croyne and a smile with no warmth pervaded his handsome face. In a way, Harry was reminded of his first impression of the Slytherins, back at his Sorting.

"I am guilty of saving my own life from a Ministry of Magic that wanted me dead without reason, from a demented cousin with whom I was accused of conspiring, when she'd rather have seen me dead than in the same room as her. If being willing to live is a crime, then I plead guilty ten times over. If refusing to be thrown away and hated without reason is a crime, then I am guilty."

And if that wasn't an accusation, then Emilia Croyne had never heard one.

She was going to start asking him for specifics. After all, it was the very reason they were here this day, to do what should have been done almost a decade and a half before, and still had never been granted to this man, Sirius Orion Black.

But he raised a hand, and Croyne arched an eyebrow while inviting him to talk once again.

Sirius took a deep breath, and avoided looking at Harry. He wasn't proud of everything he had done, and he was even less proud that some of those things left him indifferent when he knew he should have been ashamed. But he had told this court he'd be honest, and honesty was what he'd be giving them.

His eyes finally locked with Dumbledore's. The old wizard was sitting on the second bench, on the left of the spectators' tribunes. He looked tense, knowing full well they were now entering a dangerous area.

What the young Lord was about to say was important. How he'd explain it afterwards was more important. How they'd take it was unpredictable.

"However, those are not the only offenses I am guilty of."

Whispers rose from the Lords' and Ladies' tribunes. If there hadn't been a silencing charm on the spectators' tribune, nothing would have been heard anymore. People were getting agitated, some completely puzzled, others blinking and pinching themselves to make sure they were awake and hadn't misunderstood what had been said.

What kind of idiot admitted to having commited a crime he had never been accused of at his own trial?

What kind of genius dared to give away all his cards?

What kind of defendant was honest enough to hold nothing back?

Emilia Croyne squinted her eyes at the Black Lord, then watched over the courtroom. She had to say, either Black was crazy, or he was innocent and knew what he was doing. Personally, she'd bet it was both.

If Sirius Black was trying to earn the public's trust, he was doing it the right way. Now, the question was, would he say everything, or was he only going to let one thing out to distract the members of the Wizengamot while the worst crimes would remain hidden?

Black couldn't lie, now that he had drunk the sinemendatium, and he wouldn't be able to for the next twenty-three hours. But he could keep things to himself. He wasn't forced to answer a question, and certainly not one that had not been asked.

"I don't want you to believe I'm an angel, because I am not, and I refuse to play the part of a perfect man. I have flaws. I can be cruel. I can make mistakes. I can hate, and I am able to do the worst. I am no angel. But it doesn't mean I'm a demon either. I am human."

As he said that, Sirius stared intently at the temporary Chief Warlock, who only returned his gaze evenly. He quite liked that witch, she did her job as it should be done.

"I am guilty of illegaly attaining a form of magic that has to be registered. I am guilty of attempted murder as a minor. I am guilty of seven uses of the Dark Arts on human beings, one of those being the use of an Unforgivable."

Ah.

He certainly had not left aside the worst offenses, or if he had, Emilia Croyne was having a hard time imagining what else he could have done that no one had any idea of.

The witch still wasn't sure if Sirius Black was a genius or an idiot, but she was certain he was courageous. No, that was beyond bravery. She didn't even have a word to qualify what he had just done. And had he really confessed to using an Unforgivable?

Forget a genius, forget an idiot, the Black Lord was insane.

A family trait, they said.

It'd be great if every criminal was as honest as he was, though. Their job would be so much easier...

Sirius smirked as he watched the pandemonium he had caused in the courtroom.

The spectators were all silent, sure, but they didn't have a choice in the matter. Most of them were looking at him stupidly, wide-eyed or rubbing their eyes.

His friends were gaping at him, and he simply shrugged. They certainly thought he was becoming crazy. He met the eyes of the other members of the Order, and was disappointed to see that most of them were scowling at him. Disappointed, but not surprised. He had guessed they'd react like that, after all, and he didn't blame them. He hadn't explained, yet. If they still looked at him as if he had the plague, or worse, as if he was a plague, after his explanations, then he'd be angry at them.

If Snape had been here, he'd certainly be eyeing him warily.

His eyes then went to Eleanor Rowle, who wasn't letting any emotion bypass her soft smile. Sirius wasn't sure whether or not it was good news. Well, he'd just have to hope she was keeping her judgement for later.

Surprisingly enough, he saw Andromeda and Narcissa share a smirk, before blinking as they realized what they had done, and moving away from each other a bit more. Dora was silently arguing with another member of the Order of the Phoenix sitting behind her, though Sirius was astonished that none of the two had given up yet, seeing as no sound could escape their lips...

Harry... Harry was difficult to look at, but when he gathered the courage to do so, the young Lord felt relieved.

Sure, Harry wasn't looking as secure as before, and his smile was weakening, but he still looked him in the eyes. It gave Sirius hope.

Then he looked at the heads of Houses, and wasn't surprised to see Frank making faces at him, as if to shut him up from afar. He ignored the Longbottom Lord. Theodore Rowle, on the other hand, was frowning slightly, but he didn't look really worried or anything. As a good Slytherin, he had picked up the fact that, even if many were scowling at the Black Lord after his declarations, no one was actually questioning his honesty. Others Lords and Ladies were whispering together, but louder than before.

A short minute went by, and Emilia Croyne hit her desk with the gavel to regain everyone's attention. Then she turned to the accused.

"Do you realize what you just admitted?"

Sirius smiled politely.

"Believe me, Miss Croyne, I do. Normally, the simple mention of an Unforgivable would send me right back to Azkaban. But I can assure you that this one won't. That is, if this time, you let me talk, and don't simply haul me away without even asking which curse it was."

A snort was heard, and Sirius could have sworn it was coming from Scrimgeour.

"Anyway, you'll forgive me if I was being quite vague as to the exact nature of two of those three offenses, but I have to build the suspense. All will be said, unless something is forgotten on the way, and if that's the case, as we agreed, I won't be accountable for it anymore."

Second snort from the Minister. People were starting to look at him oddly, and Croyne was preparing herself to tell off Scrimgeour, one thing she'd rather not do. But Sirius turned slightly to look at the Minister, and tilted his head a bit. His smile grew cold once again, and the chill traveled to his silver eyes.

The ones who were next to the Minister for Magic shifted in their seats. Scrimgeour himself was feeling uncomfortable. He held the Black Lord's stare, for he was the Minister and couldn't back away. But he didn't like it one bit. There was something about this man, that gave him the feeling he could rip him apart and walk away without a second thought.

When Sirius Black looked back at the substitute Chief Warlock, the Minister felt as if a terrible weight had been taken off his shoulders.

Scrimgeour hadn't looked away, and he knew that, but Black's calm demeanor during his ordeal told him he certainly hadn't won either. Black was conceding him this victory, and nothing else.

Emilia Croyne sent the trial back on its tracks.

"Lord Black, you plead not guilty of blasting a street and killing Peter Pettigrew. Yet, when the Aurors found you at the crime scene, they described you as laughing manically over the bodies of the dead. If you weren't the one who did it, then who did? Why have you reacted like this? Why haven't you defended yourself, that is, not before the following day, when no one wanted to listen anymore, given the evidences?"

Sirius did something no one expected. Well, no one, except Dumbledore, maybe, because the old wizard seemed to always know what was going on in people's heads. And even when he didn't and was surprised, his surprise gave the feeling he wasn't so surprised...

Anyway, Sirius laughed.

He laughed at the question, soflty, coldly, hatefully.

And those who ignored the truth in the audience froze. The members of the Order of the Phoenix smiled spitefully, thinking of Pettigrew and what would happen to him if Sirius managed to catch him one day. They had forgotten, for now at least, their wariness towards their fellow member. The Death Eaters who were attending felt a chill running down their spines, and they didn't like it at all. For a second, they almost forgot he wasn't one of them, and for the following minute, they shivered as they remembered that Sirius Black was not only not on their side, but also their ennemy. Once again, they were reminded why they hated it so much, why they hated him so much.

Sirius Black was to be feared by those who went against him.

"I was laughing because the whole situation was so damn ridiculous."

Croyne blinked.

"I beg your pardon? Ridiculous?"

"That's what I said."

"Your godson had become an orphan during the night, two of your best friends had been killed, a large dozen of people were dead at your feet, and you call that ridiculous?"

Sirius smiled, and again, everyone could see there was no real warmth behind that smile. It was more hateful than anything else. A smile full of self-hatred.

"Ridiculous, yes. The blasted rat had outsmarted me! He had been the traitor, he had been the culprit, he had been the one to buy his survival with the lives of his friends, and I had seen nothing. He had been right under my nose this whole time, but I had dismissed him for he was too unimportant, too weak to be taken into account. I had searched for that damned traitor, we were suspecting one another, the trust I had in the three first friends I ever made was shattering, and he was there. He was there, and I hadn't seen anything! I had been suspecting the wrong friend, because that one, the one who had sold us out, he seemed too insignificant to even catch the eye of the enemy. How wrong I was!"

People were exchanging disbelieving glances, unsure of who was the "rat" the Black Lord was talking about. Those who knew kept silent, their faces closed.

Harry was thinking that while his godfather was having quite an effect on his audience, Sirius was being way too cheerful about the whole thing. The calm before the storm...

Well, cheerful was a bit too merry an adjective, but still. The teenager could hear the sarcasm oozing out of the words. Sirius was... He was distancing himself from the guilt, if only in words and appearance. Away from his guilt. And all that was left was the hatred for Pettigrew.

Such hatred.

Harry looked at the people around him.

They couldn't hear the hatred. Or rather, they couldn't yet understand what it was. They felt it was wrong. It was written on their face. They felt it, but they didn't know yet. Sirius looked too haughty for now. Supercilious, maybe. Disturbing, surely.

But not frightening. Not yet.

Harry had seen him dark, once. He had seen his godfather about to murder the traitor. He had seen him clothed in rags, thinner than death itself, with sunken cheeks and dirty hair. He had seen the madness and the hurt.

The teenager wondered what a dark Sirius would look like in full possession of his faculties.

He had a feeling he wouldn't have to wait long to witness it.

"I was laughing, because I had lost everything. I had tried to play smart, and it had been a good enough plan, but I was too full of myself, I was looking too far way, already aiming, but careless about my surroundings. I had forgotten one didn't have to be strong and clever to be of use to the Dark Bastard. I had forgotten one didn't have to be mighty to fall and betray."

The smile had disappeared from Sirius Black's face, and already the audience was missing it. They had thought it disturbing and unpleasant to look at, as if they were being mocked. Now they missed it, because without this smile, the Black Lord looked simply about to kill someone.

Those who had known Bellatrix Lestrange suddenly found themselves fully appreciating their parenting. They couldn't say they liked the feeling.

"I was simply thinking it was awfully ridiculous. Bested by Peter Pettigrew! A friend whom I had protected for years. I should have let him to be bullied by the Slytherins in our first year, and maybe they'd have beaten the life out of him one day or another. A pity, really."

On the first bench, Narcissa and Andromeda were nodding together without realizing it. They might not have minded the boy, but they had never liked the man he had grown into, Houses business not even taken into account.

It wasn't even that Peter Pettigrew had been a bad person, before his treason. It was simply that he hadn't been friends with people he could measure up to. Remus Lupin, James Potter, and Sirius Black. They had been braver, stronger, brighter than he would ever be, and he couldn't be considered guilty of that. But that had made him a liability. No matter how much he'd have wanted to be like his friends, he couldn't have, and hadn't, given them as much as they had been ready to give him.

Up in the darkness of the room, above the chandelier, Bellatrix was glowing slightly, as any other ghost would have done. She refrained a chuckle as she looked at her sisters reacting exactly the same way. She didn't want to attract attention, not yet, and luckily everyone had been so busy staring at Sirius they hadn't noticed the faint grey mist irradiating a shy light right under the ceiling.

Sirius had such a thing for theatrics! The public was already under his thumb, no matter their ideas on his guilt or innocence. They wanted more. They wanted to know.

And they would know.

And they'd wish they didn't.

They would wish the Black Lord had kept them in the dark, that he'd have never told them how terrible they had been towards him. They'd be ashamed.

And hopefully, Sirius would feel a bit better.

"Peter Pettigrew?"

Croyne couldn't believe what she was hearing.

As everyone else, she had read _the Quibbler_ 's article, but still, she hadn't believed it all. She had always thought there had been more to it, and she wasn't wrong, then again, they hadn't said everything. Harry Potter hadn't told how his godfather had escaped from Azkaban, and it was the sensible thing to do. After all, they didn't want Black to be captured again.

Harry Potter had only said two things about Black, too busy with warning everyone about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return. It wasn't as if anyone would just believe him if he had said the whole truth about the Black Lord. So he had said two things: Black was innocent, and Pettigrew was alive and a traitor.

And somehow, Emilia Croyne had believed there had been some secret behind all this. That maybe, Pettigrew was alive, that maybe, Pettigrew was a traitor, but that somehow, there was more to it, something that would explain how Peter Pettigrew of all people had been able to best Sirius Black.

Sirius snorted, and ignored her for the time being.

"So yes, I laughed. I was having one of these things, called nervous breakdowns. I wasn't in any state to defend myself."

The young Lord frowned as he said this. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't quite right. So he amended.

"I beg your pardon. I would have been able to defend myself if I had wanted. But all I wanted, was to die. I had lost everything. My little brother was an indoctrinated idiot. A dead, indoctrinated idiot. My family was full of fanatics. My surrogate family, the Potters, was dead and gone. My best friends were a dead man, a traitor, and one who thought me to be the traitor. Voldepants was gone, so I had nothing and no one to fight against. The war I had wanted to see put to an end for so long had ended, but now that I could live, I had nothing to live for."

Sirius looked guiltily at his godson, and no one missed the look in his eyes. He was sorry, so sorry.

"But that wasn't the truth. I had one thing left to live for. One person. One child. And when I realized it... Someone spat in my face."

Strangely, many people averted their eyes when he looked pointedly around.

Sirius arched an eyebrow, starting to calm down as he wasn't talking about the rat anymore. His smirk was almost back on his face. Almost, because he knew he'd have to go back to this disheartening topic before long.

Damned rat.

"It was too late. I tried to talk once, and someone spat in my face. I never tried again."

Not that anyone had come to listen to his side of the story.

Then he turned back to Emilia Croyne.

"As for your question, yes, Peter Pettigrew. It was so simple, no one ever thought of him when we wondered about the traitor amongst us."

"You say 'us', but you're not talking about Aurors."

Sirius gave the substitute Chief Warlock a short laugh.

"Of course not. Peter wasn't good enough to make a half-decent Auror. No, I'm talking about the Order of the Phoenix."

Some Lords whispered at that, and the members of the Order rolled their eyes in the tribunes. It wasn't as if anyone ignored the Black Lord had been a member. He had been a target since the beginning, so he hadn't felt necessary to hide that he was openly fighting against Voldemort.

As he hadn't deemed it necessary to talk about Voldemort with something more respectful than "Voldepants" or "the Dark Bastard". Not that Voldemort deserved any respect. But it could have been seen as wise to just call him "Voldemort".

But anyway, they all knew Sirius already had a target painted on his back.

"We were all part of the Order, James, Lily, Remus, me... Peter! And we knew there was a mole amonsgt us. We simply didn't know who. We couldn't figure it out. We knew Voldepants wanted the Potters. So we secured them. So we put their house under a Fidelius charm. And we told everyone I was the Secret-Keeper. We told everyone, even Remus, even Dumbledore, because I didn't trust anyone anymore. No one except the Potters, who wouldn't sell themselves to the Dark Bastard, and Peter, because he was a friend, and he wasn't likely to catch the eye of the enemy."

Sirius snorted again in self-derision. It was the best he could do to not to curse the rat all the way to the next millenium. And since the rat wasn't anywhere near...

"For it'd have been stupid to make Peter the Secret-Keeper. No sane person would have given such a responsibility to someone so weak. And it was the exact reason why I had thought of him for this task. I was too obvious. Everyone can bend to torture, one day or another, if tortured the right way. And if I had killed myself to keep the secret safe, the secret would have gone to all those who had heard it from me, only increasing the number of people able to divulge it. It was better to act as a dummy. I could still die of it, but I couldn't betray, even under the hand of the most experienced torturer."

Up there, Bellatrix tipped an imaginary hat, a fake smile on her lips. She knew Sirius was talking about her. Who else? It was the truth.

It didn't make her feel any better.

"Peter told me, two years ago, just before he escaped again, that he did it out of self-preservation. A wonder he was in Gryffindor, really. He saw he had no chance of surviving by standing by our side. So he bought his own life with ours. Dorcas Meadowes, Edgar Bones, the Prewett brothers, Marlene McKinnon, Benjamin Fenwick... How many of us died because of the pieces of information Peter gave away?"

Sirius turned to the Lords and Ladies. He saw Lord Bones. He saw Lady Prewett. They were there, sitting. Listening. And their faces were hard.

Edgar and Amelia's brother. Molly's cousin Esther.

The House of Prewett, at least, would soon change its name for another, as, centuries before, the House of Darke had become the House of Black.

Sirius' eyes met Arthur's. The Weasley Lord closed his eyes. He knew what was coming.

"Interesting how some of them were pure-bloods."

The supremacists, known and unknown, tensed.

Yes, the dark lord had gone after pure-bloods. But they were blood traitors. So it had been justified.

Right?

Croyne cleared her throat, and Sirius looked back at her.

"Why should we believe you when you say out of your two friendships, it was Peter Pettigrew's that ultimately lacked? Why shouldn't we believe that it was yours? Pettigrew isn't here to defend himself. Actually, nothing tells us he is alive. And you were the one with the blood of the most infamous House of Black. Peter Pettigrew was only a half-blood with no name, no riches, no place in a pure-bloods society. You were the one who could gain everything from treachery."

Emilia Croyne didn't believe what she was implying. But she had to ask.

Sirius' face hardened.

"Yes. I was the Black heir. I am one of the wizards with the oldest blood. I could have had everything. And still, I left. And still, I denied my wretched family when I was only sixteen years old. I left the house. I was burned off the tapestry. My parents disowned me as their son. My mother carved the words 'blood traitor' upon my heart with her wand and black magic before shutting the door behind me. And yet, I could have gone to my grandfather, the Black Lord of these times, and he would have taken me in."

The audience watched as the young Lord's hand went to his heart. They watched as he dug his fingers in his clothes, not even looking at his actions, not even aware of what he was doing.

Or at least, it seemed that way.

Because the truth, Remus and the Blacks knew it, the truth was that Sirius had allowed his body to act this way, before forgetting about it as it was of no importance. He had allowed them to see.

"But I didn't. I went to James, my first friend ever. I went to James' parents."

Sirius Black was allowing so many people to see and hear about the truth of his family.

"And they took me in. Do you really think I'd have betrayed this family so easily?"

 

 


	16. And the worst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This trial is getting out of hand.  
> That is, out of my hands, not of Sirius'. Sirius is awesome, as usual. I, on the other hand, am not sure how long this will take to say everything...

 Silence.

Sirius had asked one question, and the only answer he got was silence.

"The Potters has been more of a family to me in four years than the Blacks had in sixteen. The year I spent at the Potters', and the three years following, I felt more at home than I had ever been at our London house or at Black Manor. And I'm not talking about the color choices and decoration. The Black estates are very black, granted, but I happen to like it that way. No, what I'm talking about, is warmth. The best I got from my mother, from my uncles and aunts, was disdain, because I wouldn't believe or at least pretend to believe, that because I was a Black, because I was a pure-blood, I was better than the lot of you."

Someone tried to say something rude, but the silencing charm over the spectators' seats worked very well, and no sound left his mouth. Yet it wasn't as if those were Sirius' words. They were his family's, and most people understood that. This one hadn't, apparently.

"The best I got from my father and grandfather was silence, because though they didn't quite believe everyone beside us was scum, they still thought themselves better than the average, not-Black, not-pureblooded wizard, and I won't even talk about muggles. They said nothing to me about my beliefs, that's true, but they said nothing to my mother either, and that was worth any acceptance in her eyes. I was the traitor, the blood traitor, the Black Traitor."

Some people winced. They remembered the nickname from their school years.

They also remembered what it had come to mean, after that fateful Halloween night.

The Black Traitor. A whole new meaning. And this time, not one to be proud of.

But what if they had been wrong?

"I tried to talk back for a while, and all I gained from that was hatred. So I shut up and ignored the family members who hated me. But no, some of them just had to continue, because even if I shut up, it wasn't enough. I had to see it their way."

Yes, because the Blacks were amongst the worst of the pure-bloods. They were the most powerful, and the most frightful, and the richest family of wizards in Great Britain, everyone knew that.

The Malfoys?

Small-timers.

They were rich, but not as much as the Blacks. They were blood supremacists, but they didn't try and mentally torture their children into believing. Those who didn't fit into the perfect-Malfoy-shell were ignored, not destroyed. They had impressive knowledge in the Dark Arts... but the Blacks had instinct and even more impressing knowledge, when it came to those.

Same thing for the Notts, same thing for the Greengrass. The Gaunts were long out of the picture, too, and that wasn't a secret to anyone.

Of the Noble and Ancient Houses, none could rival the House of Black.

To put it in simple words, back when the Statute of Secrecy hadn't been even thought of, the wizards Lords and the witches Ladies had been actual nobility of the Kingdom of England. Well, they still were, even nowadays, but now they were something like a secret nobility.

Anyway.

There had been only one duke amongst these nobles.

When the Statute had been decreeted, there had been thirty-six Houses of wizarding descent. Most of them figured amongst the sacred twenty-eight, but not all of them. Not all of them were pureblooded, after all, but they were all very old families, sometimes older than Hogwarts itself.

The Lords Nott, Greengrass and Gaunt had been marquesses. The Lords Rowle, Malfoy, Avery, Crouch and Prewett had been earls. The Lords Drennan, Abbot, Carrow, Fawley, Longbottom, Rosier, Flint, Ollivander, Shacklebolt and Weasley had been viscounts. And lastly, the barons: Lords Potter, Yaxley, Goyle, Bulstrode, Lestrange, Wenlock, Macmillan, Slughorn, Burke, Parkinson, Selwyn, McLeod, Shafiq, Oliphant, Travers, Hawksworth and Sykes.

Three of these Lords were missing this day, because Harry was too young to take the Lordship, because the Lestranges were wanted for Death Eaters activities, and because Lord Drennan was suffering from a violent dragon pox somewhere in Ecuador.

And there had been Lord Black. The duke of Black.

They were all part of a secret nobility, now, so they didn't use their rank. But no one had ever forgotten that the Blacks were the only family whose head was a duke.

The House of Black had been the grandest, and still was, now that Sirius Black was claiming its Lordship, now that the House had a head again.

For such a Noble and Most Ancient House, it was obvious to those amongst the public who were familiar with the history of the wizarding nobility that this powerful family could only be strict about what they asked of their members.

And no one, during the last decades, no one had ignored what exactly the House of Black had slowly fallen into for many centuries, always deeper, always further away. What beliefs.

And they all knew, though they surely didn't know the whole story, they all knew how easily the Blacks could use dark magic. They all knew the cruelty they could display.

They could very well guess what would be done to the second heir to the Lordship if he refused to act as such.

They could guess it hadn't been pretty, and at the same time they couldn't say they knew.

Secrets and power, this was the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

"Those who thought like me were burned off the family tree at my home. Andromeda, Alphard. Those who cared about me, even if they didn't agree with my views, couldn't say anything, because if they did, they'd have ended up in the crossfire. Regulus, Narcissa."

The witch hardly refrained her surprise from showing on her face, as her cousin admitted having been aware of her feelings about the whole thing. But Narcissa Malfoy wasn't sure it made her feel relieved or even more guilty. She wasn't sure why she had come to the trial in the first place.

Acid tears, or at least it felt like they were acid, formed in her lashes, and the blond woman looked down to hide them. She couldn't express her emotions, not here, not with all those people watching, not with Death Eaters seeing her.

She felt a hand upon her own, and she looked at it, for she didn't dare to look up and expose her tears. But she recognized the ring on the hand, and she instinctively knew it was her sister's.

The tears doubled, but she eventually got her self-control back. She raised her head, and nothing could be seen of her precedent turmoil.

Yet, Narcissa didn't make a move for Andromeda to remove her hand, and somewhere up in the shadows of the ceiling, a ghost saw everything and smiled.

"Those who loved me because I was family but hated me because I was more than a Black, because I was a person, with my own beliefs, those despised me, and at the same time, tried to get me to change my mind with their twisted ways. They thought that maybe, they could hammer their views over mine and so make me forget all that made me an individual. They thought that by pushing me out of the picture, they would see me crawl back into place for the love of my family. They thought that by hurting me, they could get me to agree with them, even if not heartfully, at least in words and acts. My mother, Bellatrix."

The ghost went more into the shadows.

She could finally see it, after all those years. It had needed her to kill her cousin and to die by his hand, to come back to the afterlife, but now she knew how mad she had been, how wrong she had been, towards Sirius.

She had loved him as any cousin, at first.

She still loved him.

But between now and then, there were years of accumulated insanity, and deep hatred for the blood traitor, for the Black Traitor. A hatred she couldn't understand anymore, but that was haunting her as she was haunting Sirius.

"And then, then! There were my father and my grandfather. They had power over everyone in the family, Arcturus because he was the Lord, the head of the family, Orion because he was his heir, as I was his. But they didn't do anything either. Sure, you could say they were both blood supremacists, and I won't tell you you're lying. It's the truth. Yet, blood purists and Death Eaters are worlds apart. The first are obnoxious, the others are dangerous psychopaths. The first usually love their own flesh and blood before their beliefs, the others care for purity more than for family. They could have at least made Walburga and Bellatrix shut up, made them leave me alone. I was a disappointment, and just let it be. But they couldn't, because some family members were so enthralled by Voldemort they could have done the unthinkable: wipe them out, if they made one wrong move."

There, the audience thought for a second that Black had glared at the ceiling, but that was ridiculous, wasn't it? So they dismissed the strange moment. Except those who didn't, and started to frown at the dark part of the room above their heads.

Bellatrix scowled, hidden by the chandelier. She knew he was angry at her, and frankly, she was angry at herself too, but did he really have to look at her and almost blow up his own strategy? Hadn't Sirius been the one to be most adamant about keeping everyone in the dark, until it was time?

Yet, her anger disappeared quickly, as she heard again and again her cousin's words.

Was he right? Had she been so far gone, she'd have gone after her own family for the sake of the Dark Lord?

The ghost bit her non-existant lower lip.

Of course she had been. She had been that far gone, for she had gone after Sirius, that time in the teenager's seventh year. She had used multiple slashing hexes on her own cousin, and even a few Cruciatus curses. She knew it, he knew it, and none of them would ever forget how far her madness had led her.

Silence fell upon the courtroom, until Emilia Croyne thought it acceptable to go back to the main topic, which wasn't how wretched the Blacks had been, and, namely, Bellatrix Black-Lestrange. Yes, because, of course, no one had missed the hint to the first attack on the Black heir, years ago, that had seen him in St. Mungo's for three days and made him cut the sleeves of his school robes to show how much he was afraid of the Death Eaters.

"You pretend Peter Pettigrew is alive, and was the one to blow up this street fifteen years ago. Would you mind explaining what happened then, and how come we only ever found one of his fingers?"

The temporary Chief Warlock searched for the Black Lord's eyes, but he was too busy snorting his disgust at the "rat". Why a "rat", anyway?

Sirius put his elbows on his legs, entwined his long fingers, and rested his chin upon them. A dark look loomed upon his face, and some people shifted on their seats when his gaze went around the room. Again. People were really shifty, today.

"That night, I went to see if Peter was alright. But there was no one. I thought something had happened to him, but... There wasn't a trace of struggle. Sure, Peter wasn't much of a duelist, but he wasn't a complete waste of space either. He was your average, common wizard. There should have been something."

The Aurors and various law enforcers present nodded as he said this. They knew what he meant.

"But there wasn't. Anxious, I thought he had maybe gone out, and been found there. That would have been a foolish move, and not even Peter would have done that so soon after going into hiding, but it was the only thing that made sense. I went straight to James' and Lily's."

It had been the only thing to make sense, because the idea that the rat had been the traitor all along had never even entered his mind. Sirius would have slapped himself, if he had been alone, and if he hadn't already done that a billion times during the last years.

"You know what I found there."

Everyone in the audience felt that yes, they knew.

Harry would have liked it better if they didn't. Actually, he'd feel better if there hadn't been a reason for them to know, like, it never happened.

To everybody's surprise, Sirius' face became hateful, and a bit frightening, if even Harry thought so. He straightened his back, separated his fingers, balled his hands into fists, and looked up, high into the ceiling, as if he couldn't even care to look at them.

Those ignorant fools!

"Of course you don't know what I found there! Not a single one of you has the slightest idea of what it was. Not even those who went home one day to find the Dark Mark above their house, and the bodies of their loved ones lifeless on the floor of the living room. You don't get what it was, and you will never understand!"

He was going to get into some people's bad books, Sirius knew that, but he didn't care.

He had thought about this moment, the moment when he'd talk about James and Lily, dead. And he had come to the conclusion it'd be for the best to say it all, even if at first, some would take it badly.

His point was to show the world his contempt for these people, who had dared think themselves worthy to judge him on the spot, and condemn him without a second thought, wasn't it?

He had thought about it, and had reached a conclusion, and he'd stick with it.

There was no need to think about it, now.

Sirius could just let go of his anger.

"You don't know what I found."

Yes, some people looked outraged, others hurt. They had suffered from Voldemort's madness, too, their families had known his terror. How could Sirius Black dare say otherwise?

"There wasn't a Dark Mark above the house."

No warning from afar.

"Half the house was a ruin."

Horror as he had come.

"James was near the entrance, dead. Lily was between the door of the nursery and Harry, dead. And Harry was crying, an ugly cut bloodying his forehead."

Yeah, and so what? It was terrible, they got it. They understood that. But not everyone had had a baby left to care for, and Harry Potter had survived the attack. Black was far behind, when it came to their own suffering.

And at least, these deaths had ended He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's reign.

Wasn't it something to feel, if not better, if not happy, at least, proud of?

The Potters' deaths hadn't been wasted, unlike many others.

Dark looks were sent to the Black Lord, and those who knew Sirius, those who had known James and Lily, wondered what exactly he was doing. This wasn't the way to get everyone on his side!

Sirius, as if he knew exactly what they were all thinking, looked down and at his audience.

A wide and unpleasant smile was splattered on his face.

"But at least, their deaths hadn't been a waste, and Voldemort was gone."

Remus blinked.

He wasn't going to...?

Yes. He knew that face. Sirius was going to do it.

Not that it wasn't a valid point. But still. The werewolf hoped most of the people here this day would get over the shame Lord Black was planning to pour down their throats, for it was going to be a lot. Apparently, Sirius had decided he would use every single reason he knew for them to be ashamed. And there were quite a lot of these, because there wasn't only those about him, but also those about the acquitted Death Eaters, about Harry, about the continued existence of prejudice... about James and Lily.

Before Sirius got to go any further, though, Lord Shafiq let his anger out.

"Exactly! I don't see what you're complaining about, Black, for at least their deaths were useful!"

Sirius didn't look at the Lord just then. He waited for a second before turning his regal gaze and looks to the young Lord.

When he did, understanding dawned upon some of the audience, who shrank back in their seats.

"Useful."

Sirius's voice sounded but a whisper, yet everyone heard it.

If people thought he was going to laugh this time too, they were wrong. It was exactly the kind of things that had had him laughing bitterly at himself before. But it wasn't about him.

Sirius wasn't going to laugh at James' and Lily's deaths.

Lord Shafiq refused to back away, and so he tried another tactic. But he had to say, the Black Lord was frightening him beyond measure right now.

"Such loathing in your eyes, Black! And you wonder why we don't trust you?"

But the Black Lord ignored him.

"Lord Adrian Shafiq. Such a pleasure. If you hadn't noticed, to you it is Lord Black."

Emilia Croyne watched the scene unfold unsure of what to do. The young Shafiq Lord had interrupted the right process of the trial, and let's not talk about his manners. Usually she'd have told him off for that, but...

"Let me ask you one thing, Lord Shafiq."

Black had everything under control, apparently, and the young Lord Shafiq was completely overwhelmed. Croyne would not have been surprised if the Black Lord had anticipated all that was happening, even though she could say his anger wasn't staged.

"Would you feel better if your cousins' deaths had been the ones putting an end to Voldemort?"

Shafic tried to claim loud and clear that yes, he'd feel better, but strangely enough, his voice died in his throat.

"Would you feel better if, as you walked into their house and found them dead and cold, as you realized that somehow, Voldemort had been vanquished thanks to their sacrifice, you could only think of how, soon, people, strangers, will be celebrating their deaths for it has given them their freedom?"

The young Lord wanted to speak, he wanted to tell Black he was wrong, it wasn't like that, he'd be sad, but proud, and relieved...

Horror struck the majority of the audience. That was it. That's what they had done all along.

Sure, poor Potters, they died. But hey, Voldepants too, cheer up!

For years, they hadn't been able to see that.

They had felt relieved.

"Would you feel better if they had died giving us all freedom, and you knew, the moment you saw their lifeless figures, that no one would consider their deaths important enough next to the Terror of the century's vanquishing? Because that is exactly what I saw, when I saw them dead, and Harry, alone, with no one left to take care of him, no one beside me, and may I remind you how much I failed even at that? You all adore Harry, that is, when you're not shunning him for being the liar he isn't, and you gave James and Lily a statue to their memory, true. But all you think is, 'what a grand sacrifice, so noble, such a reason to be proud and grateful to them!'. You don't see the suffering, and the fact that Harry isn't a savior, but a child who never knew his parents. You refuse to understand it wasn't only a selfless sacrifice, but a tragedy! At first, you honoured them, but soon enough, you forgot, and Godric's Hollow became a spot for tourists, and Harry was just another celebrity, and the Potters, those figures without reality, those symbols, maybe, were not people anymore."

And there was so much more he could have said, and there was so much more he wouldn't say. And the witches and wizards in the courtroom felt terrible, as they remembered how they had forgotten about the fact that people had died, that a child had been orphaned, that night, too. And even the members of the Order of the Phoenix felt guilty, though they had always remembered, for once or twice at least, they had thought how lucky it was, even if it was a pity.

And Harry didn't dare to take his eyes off his godfather, because if he did, he felt he'd have to meet someone else's eyes, and he couldn't, he couldn't.

And Dumbledore's twinkle disappeared, for he knew too well that feeling that Sirius had experienced all these years. He knew it couldn't be good to never allow the good to take over the bad, as both of them were constantly doing, even if they hid it well. Yet, it felt so wrong, so ungrateful, so traitorous to make a tragedy into a happy event.

And Sirius had seen it all along.

He had known, the first time he had looked at James' body. He had remembered all that James had done for him, and all that they would never be doing together, now that he was dead. He had know, the moment his eyes had found Lily. He had understood how Hary would never have his mother to comfort him, now that she was dead. And as soon as he had seen Harry, well though distressed and a bit bloody, he had known how the world would react, and how no one would really care about their loss.

And the worst was that he knew they had never even tought about it that way.

"Your cousins' deaths, Lord Shafiq, and all the other meaningless deaths that were brought upon us by Voldemort, they had one thing for them: they were useless. That made them tragedies. James and Lily never got this chance. They had the great honor of being useful, not a waste, our liberation! And so they had no right to be anything else, least of all a tragedy."

Sirius looked for a long while at the young Lord, who couldn't say a word, and looked as if he was going to faint. He looked, and his eyes were so cold, and his face was so hard, some of the Lords and Ladies had the impression, for a second, he himself was a corpse.

Then the Black Lord turned back to Emilia Croyne, and the witch held his gaze as no one else in this room, except his friends and Dumbledore, had been able too.

"You asked what happened to Peter, didn't you? I will tell you. Hagrid arrived not long after that, and he asked me to hand Harry over, for him to go to his aunt. I was his godfather, and I knew Petunia would be a nightmare to my godson, but I guessed Lily had done something when sacrificing her live for her son's, and that Dumbledore knew it too. It was highly possible blood magic was involved, and Harry would be safe, just the time for me to go and hunt down the damned traitor."

Of course, at first, he had thought he'd come back, and get Harry, and that they'd go live at Black Manor, for example, if the headmaster deemed it too dangerous for the baby to leave the blood wards. It wasn't as if Arcturus had supported Voldepants or anything, he wasn't a danger, and Harry Potter was distant family, so... Beside family, no one could reach them behind the Black wards. Sirius would have had to keep an eye on his mother when she'd come and visit, and maybe on Narcissa because of her husband, and of course on Bellatrix if she got away despite all her crimes. But it wasn't so terrible.

Because there was no way Peter would escape his wrath, right?

"So I went after the rat, and I found him. Shock! Unscathed. For a while, I had entertained the idea he had broken under torture, and maybe not much of it, because Peter wasn't so courageous to begin with, and well, I'd have resented him if that was the case, but I wouldn't have hated him beyond saving. It'd have taken time, but I would have forgiven him. But no, here he was, walking in the street, only looking a bit anxious, but perfectly fine otherwise."

Only one explanation: he had told them on the spot.

"It could have been fear, it could have been threats, and so a treason, but more of the disappointing kind. They could have figured out he was the real secret keeper, though I wondered how, and he could have chickened out as soon as they had come for him. Disappointing, but understandable."

After all, he hadn't chosen Peter for his bravery. He had chosen him because Peter was just so not right for the job it was the perfect cover.

"I called out to him, ready to punch him in the face and then listen to his explanation. And what did he do? As soon as he recognized me, he became pale as death and started shivering in fear."

And that, Sirius was certain, wasn't an act. Peter knew him better than most, and the rat had known what his friend was able to do to him as soon as he would understand what had really happened. He must have been on the run, in fact, since the very moment the word had spread the Dark Bastard had disappeared, and not only from his fellow Death Eaters, but also from him, Sirius, and on a lesser scale, Remus and the rest of the Order.

"Then I knew. I knew what he had done, I knew who was the traitor, I knew he was the reason my best friend, a brother in all but blood, and his wife, a woman with a golden heart, were dead, and it was because of him that my godson was now an orphan."

Whispers in the courtroom, coming from the officials and the heads of House. The spectators would have done as much, if they hadn't been silenced by the silencing charm on the tribune.

What would they have done if they had been in Black's shoes?

They didn't know him personally, most of them, but they knew enough to say he didn't like treason a bit, and was more than able to use the Dark Arts if he had to.

"I admit I might have reduced him to smithereens, if I had been given the chance. But first I wanted to hear him say it, and you'll agree that a dead person usually has difficulties speaking."

Bellatrix couldn't help but nod. Interrogating people was difficult when they were dead. She should know, with her past.

"I drew my wand, but before I could even say a word, the rat cut off his finger. Then Peter turned around, and ran across the street, his wand behind his back shooting random spells, and screaming how I, and not him, mind you, it wasn't as if he had sold dozens of people to Voldepants to save his own skin!, how I had betrayed my best friend, his wife and my godson all at the same time, and how could I, really, didn't I have a heart?"

As he talked, Sirius' voice turned to a disturbing sneer, and by the end of his sentence, he was half-imitating a pinched voice that was surely supposed to be Pettigrew's, and half-spitting the words away from his mouth.

"I only got the time to use _protego_ , and the street exploded. The bloody traitor had escaped by the sewers, and we already talked about what happened next."

Most of the audience was too stunned to say a word, but amongst the heads of Houses, Lady Selwyn scoffed. She couldn't deny the Black Lord was utterly convincing, but still, by the sewers?!

"And how did he do that, if I may ask? He turned into a rat, perhaps?"

Emilia Croyne stayed quiet despite the interruption, for she had wanted to ask the same thing. She looked expectantly at Black, whose only answer to the rude Lady had been to raise an eyebrow and look at her haughtily.

If anything, Lord Black was a master at belittling people.

Amongst the public, Sirius could see Remus almost strangling himself in surprise, and the others who knew about the Marauders being animagi watching the Selwyn Lady with astonishment.

He took one second to morph his face back into something indifferent, calm, composed.

Then he smiled at the witch who had questioned the truthfulness in his words.

"You nailed it."

Lady Selwyn only blinked. And blinked again. And again.

Actually, many people blinked at that.

"I beg your pardon?"

Sirius refrained an urge to roll his eyes and kept his smile splattered on his face. This one had, like many others before, no warmth in it, but it wasn't as unpleasant as the last one. A bit condescending, perhaps, but well, Sirius thought he had a right to be patronizing towards anyone who still doubted him, or worse, who thought he was stupid enough to make up such a blatant lie.

If he said something such as "Peter is an animagus", sure, it was unlikely, but it was still the truth. He wouldn't go around saying absurdities, truth serum or not, during his own trial, if they weren't true. False absurdities were way too easy to reveal for what they were.

"Peter cut his fingers, blasted the street, turned into a rat and ran through the sewers."

Blinks.

Again?

Well, they had good reasons not to catch on, except those who already knew, but since those individuals were either Death Eaters having heard of that from their illegal meetings, or members of the Order of the Phoenix who had kept the secret as to where one of the most wanted fugitives of the wizarding world was hiding, it was pretty expected from them not to say anything. Of course, most of them were content with not reacting and showing they knew, rather than participating in the blinking contest.

Dumbledore seemed to enjoy the trial a bit too much, Sirius noticed. Then again he himself was enjoying the show just as much, and he suspected that Bella, up there above her chandelier, was very pleased with it too, so he wouldn't judge.

After a moment, though, Emilia Croyne finally asked the question that was weighing on everybody's mind, that is, on the mind of all those who had gotten past the fact that turning into a rat was exactly what the damn traitor had done.

"Lord Black, are you perhaps suggesting that Peter Pettigrew is an unregistered animagus?"

Well, there was also transfiguration, but to transfigure a whole human being into an animal, let alone the fact that it was oneself, one needed to be extremely powerful, which Pettigrew definitely wasn't, able to concentrate, which was hardly possible with Black just behind the wizard and dying to manhandle him to his early grave, and a lot of time, which had simply not been an option back then.

So that let only one possible way for Pettigrew to turn into a rat, and that was being an animagus.

"Peter is an animagus. A rat, to be precise, brown, watery eyes, a bald spot on the top of his head, and, unsurprisingly, one missing toe."

And of course, who but Scrimgeour to snort in disbelief?

"Don't you think we would have known if Peter Pettigrew was an animagus, Black?"

Sirius made a show of turning to look at the Minister and then, roll his eyes.

"That I don't know, Minister. Are you implying you knew all along, and never reported it? Because Peter is an animagus. I should know, I was the one who managed the incredible feat of getting him there despite his blatant lack of talent."

"And how would one teach to someone else how to become an animagus without being one themselves, Lord Black?"

Sirius didn't miss the uncharacteristic "Lord" in the Minister for Magic's sentence, nor did he miss the obvious disdain in the older wizard's voice. Merlin, it was going to be a real pain to get Scrimgeour to see the truth, if he wasn't even willing to figure that out on his own, with all the hints Sirius had already given.

Because the Minister surely wasn't stupid. If it had still been Fudge, the young Lord could have indulged such a refusal of what was obvious. But this was Scrimgeour there, not Fudge.

The man was hidebound, that was it.

So Sirius squinted, and asked as seriously as he knew he could sound.

"Are you daft, Minister?"

Remus was holding his head between his hands back there in the spectators' tribune, Harry was looking at his godfather as if the Black Lord had grown, nevermind a second, but a third head, and Narcissa and Andromeda were trying their hardest not to snigger together, under the flabbergasted eyes of their niece and daughter.

Sirius didn't bother to look, but he knew Frank was mimicking strangulation in the heads' tribune. He knew the man well enough to guess his silent threats.

"I don't believe you are. Yet, you do everything to make me believe so."

Scrimgeour swallowed his hurt pride and rightful anger, waiting for more. If he let the Black Lord do as he pleased, maybe the wizard would finally make a mistake.

Because so far, Sirius Black had been many things, but never out of line.

Obnoxious, surely, and yet never to those who treated him as any other accused: possibly guilty, possibly innocent. Condescending, certainly, and yet always to those who made a point to do the exact same thing towards him. Manipulative, obviously, and yet for now, he hadn't tried to secretly defend a blood purist's opinion or anything related to Death Eaters ideals and activities.

It was surprising, actually, how much of a Slyterin the former Gryffindor had been all along. Courageous, to what seemed like insanity, and at the same time, cunning enough to get everyone to trust his word, if not his personality.

That is, until now.

Because, frankly, Pettigrew, an animagus? Why not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as a ballerina?

But Black was talking again, and once more, the Minister for Magic felt the urge to believe this wizard, this man, who was certainly uttering nonsense, and yet, sounded so truthful. The feelings, the choice of words, were too much to be a lie. The depictions he made, not only of others, but also of himself, were too harsh sometimes, too derogative, not to be honest.

Rufus Scrimgeour crushed the odd feeling in his chest, for he knew he was being a victim of Black's speech, and he couldn't afford that. He had to unmask the wizard, for he was too dangerous to be left to his own devices, or worst, to Voldemort's.

"The reason I was able to help Peter to become an animagus, Minister, is that I am one myself."

Croyne sputtered, in shock. As many others.

When she managed to catch her breath, the temporary Chief Warlock looked at the defendant with recognition in the eyes.

"And that would be the offense you mentionned, of 'illegally attaining a form of magic that has to be registered', I surmise?"

Sirius smiled slightly, and nodded to the witch.

"You know you have to tell us more, now that the cat is out of the bag, don't you, Lord Black?"

"Not an issue. To make a long story short, I have known a werewolf for quite a long time, and even back in school, I was friend with him. Peter, James and I realized in hardly more than a year why he was always away once a month, or to put it as he tried to make us believe, why he was 'visiting his ill mother' at regular intervals. Every time he came back, he was battered and weak. We soon decided we had to do something, and, since a transformed werewolf is a danger only to humans, the logical way was by becoming animagi, so that he wouldn't be alone during the full moons, and wouldn't end up tearing himself apart. James and I managed that by our fifth year, and then we helped Peter who finally achieved the impossible during the following summer."

This was utter madness, was the general thought of the audience.

Sirius Black was talking about animagus transformation as if it was something difficult to attain, but just so much. There was a reason there were so few animagi out there! Becoming one took time, determination, hard work, and natural ease in transfiguration. But here he was, almost joking about it, and even talking about helping an average wizard into it with success!

Seriously, what was the deal with Sirius Black?

Amongst the public, Minerva McGonagall couldn't refrain a smug look at the feats of her former student. Sure, he had done it by himself, but she had always known how great a wizard he could be. One of the reasons why she had been so shaken when he had apparently turned his coat, actually.

"Would you mind to demonstrate your claim, Lord Black?"

"But certainly, Chief Warlock."

Sirius smiled pleasantly, and, as he saw two Aurors walk over to his seat, he rose on his feet elegantly. The Aurors pointed their wands at him, ready to intervene if he tried to do anything, and nodded for him to process.

A large part of the audience gaped as the young man morphed into a large and dangerous looking black dog. The animal was grand, in a way. Bear-sized, yet slender enough to really look like a dog. Astonishing silver eyes, that dutifully kept their human form's color. A dark fur, that seemed to evaporate into thin air after a few inches of dusky hair, but where exactly, no one could tell, because the outline of the dog seemed to be blurred...

Or spectral.

A Lord strangled a scream.

Everyone looked at him, and he was pointing a finger at the animagus, standing all of a sudden on shaky legs, and his face turning pale before their very eyes.

"A grim!"

All eyes darted back to the Black Lord, back in human form.

"Ah. I could have warned you beforehand, I guess. And don't be so shaken, Lord Fawley. Seeing me won't cause your imminent death, unless you believe it so strongly you end up giving yourself a heart attack. That's what happens, most of the time, you know. Grims aren't harbingers of death. I should know, I see many of them on a daily basis, and I'm still alive."

Emilia Croyne tried to keep everything in order for the time being, but she was fighting a losing war. She eventually relented, and waited for Ambrosius Fawley to calm down, so that they could go on with the trial. Never before had she presided such a case, and it was proving to be tiresome.

Once everything was back in order, she looked back at the Black Lord, and asked tiredly if this, perhaps, had anything to do with his escape from Azkaban. Sirius smiled; it was time to come clean.

"Indeed, it has. As an animal, I was less affected by the dementors than as a man. And it was easier to swim back to shore as a dog, obviously. But not anyone could escape from that place, even if they were unregistered animagi such as myself. I knew I was innocent, and that kept me saner than even the grim could. Not a happy thought, so it stayed. Just innocent, and incredibly strong-willed."

The young Lord turned to the Minister of Magic and smirked at him.

"An innocent man, it's what it takes to escape from Azkaban."

 

 


	17. A blessing he wasn't allowed to taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone ask, I was revising for the mock exams, and definitely not writing this, understood?  
> Even more so if it is my mum asking.

 

"Innocent you claim to be, Lord Black, yet you have admitted to be guilty of several crimes earlier on."

As she said these words, Emilia Croyne couldn't help but think that he had given them away to be tried when no one had ever known about it. He had been vague, sure, but everything that had happened until now seemed to indicate he was going to keep his word, and tell them everything they needed to know about who was Sirius Black, and why he couldn't possibly be the wizard everyone had thought him to be for so long.

Somehow, she felt that included even the things he'd have rather kept to himself.

Somehow, she felt not many people were going to like what would come next, because if with only three accusations undone and one of his own proved, he had managed to crush all their beliefs, what could he do with the five that were left?

For now, the damaged were Lord Shafiq, who had clearly asked for it, Lady Selwyn, who was still blinking in disbelief about the animagus thing, and Lord Fawley, who was desparately trying to hide behind Lady Olyphant since he had seen the grim form of their fellow Lord. Oh, and the Minister for Magic, who had all but left his glaring contest with Black as a loser, and that, only because the Black Lord had deemed it unnecessary to go on scaring the hell out of him any longer. And of course, about everyone else in the courtroom, because even if they hadn't been individually targeted, they had all felt the pressure in Sirius Black's words.

All in all, even the ones who were on Black's side weren't unscathed, for his words had hurt them in another way, reminding them they hadn't been able to do anything for him, they had even doubted him, they had sometimes loathed him before seeing the truth. Reminding them of these losses they had felt at the death of the Potters, for those who had been their friends. Reminding them that it was happening again.

So far, they had talked about the accusations of treason, mass murder, and escaping from Azkaban. These, he had proved wrong, or necessary. There was also the matter of him being an illegal animagus, but it wasn't really serious, considering, and he had done way more than the time he could have been sentenced to for that particular offense. Actually, knowing it had been a time of war, and having an ace up one's sleeve could save one's life, and he had done nothing wrong with this power, the most he'd certainly have gotten would have been a fine.

That left the accusations of breaking into Hogwarts, a feat he hadn't denied, escaping once again under the very nose of the previous Minister for Magic who was currently hiding behind a witch large enough to hide two men like him in the spectators' tribune, using the Dark Arts to kill Bellatrix Lestrange, not that Croyne blamed him for that one, and his self-made accusations of attempted murder at as a minor and several uses of the Dark Arts on human beings.

Speaking of which, didn't that relate to this peculiar report of his Auror trainee days that she had read in preparation for this trial? If that was the case, the temporary Chief Warlock wasn't going to blame him for these uses of dark magic either...

But there was still the issue of the Unforgivable he had claimed to have used...

And that, Emilia Croyne didn't know what to make of it.

But maybe she could just listen to what he had to say, after all. It wasn't as if she was doing a listing of the accusations and answers he had for each in case one went forgotten, and, as stipulated in his deal with the Ministry, it became a never-to-blame-again-crime-because-hell,-that-was-the-deal.

Oh wait.

She was.

The temporary Chief Warlock looked at the accused, and he looked back at her.

She didn't fear him, and Sirius liked that. This witch knew her job, and even if she knew he was to be feared if crossed, he wasn't one to be feared for his beliefs or actions.

After all, Sirius knew he was a dangerous man, but not in the bad way. He was dangerous, but only when it was asked of him. He was dangerous, because he was able to defend himself, the ones he cared about, and as many people a wizard could defend. He was dangerous, because he was able to exact revenge, and wasn't afraid to go against the laws when the laws weren't what they should have been. He was dangerous, because he had the capacity to be terrible, and not because he had the mind to be so.

He was to be feared, if one wished to be his enemy.

He wasn't to be feared by those who had nothing against him.

A smile twitched on his lips, and Sirius answered the silent question at the end of Emilia Croyne's sentence.

"I don't intend to pretend I am not guilty of anything. I did questionable things, but I am not ashamed of it. I did these things, because you people gave me no other choice. Who could have asked of me to stay in Azkaban when I hadn't any reason to be here to begin with? Who could blame me from fleeing a dementor's Kiss that I never deserved? I did what was necessary for my survival, and for the sake of my godson."

That was for escaping twice from Ministry custody.

Now came the things that weren't as great.

"However, I did things I am ashamed of, and I won't say I did never know the grasp of ill intent. I have wished to murder Peter so many time I lost count. Azkaban is a great place to entertain unpleasant thoughts, and I won't say how many times I have dreamed of making the ones who kept me there without knowing anything suffer as much as I did. I am far from being an angel. I can be cruel and ruthless. But I never do what I do without a reason, be it good or bad. Usually, I stick with justified."

Protection, necessary evil, fighting off, and not revenge, prevention or hatred.

"Usually."

The young Lord wasn't looking anywhere in particular, or at anyone. He was just there, sitting still on his chair, and looking.

Looking at what, at who, or, really, at when, few knew, and many didn't want to know anymore.

They had feared him as an evil traitor for years, and now they could only see a man whose life had been a succession of prejudices and assumptions. They weren't going to say they believed him yet, but they knew that, no matter the truth, guilty or innocent, they were the ones who had destroyed this man, and made him what he now was.

They felt, and that made them terribly ill-at-ease, they felt that even if Lord Black ended up being the worst Death Eater ever, it was their fault for letting him degrade into this. For having refused to see him for anything else than a Black, now, then, and even before that, when he had been a child. For having believed it was just so easy to get out of what his family before them had made him.

It wasn't Sirius Black's fault, not entirely anyway, if he was who he was.

His choices were his own, of course.

But the man, and the child before him, had always been a clever person. He had seen, from the beginning, that there was something wrong in his family. He had been able to get away from the pure-bloods' beliefs. And worst of all, he had seen the true face of the ones who should have loved him unconditionally.

Sirius Black had known all along that his family loved him, but would never accept him. He had known their thoughts to be twisted, and there was no way to make them right.

And that, that had hurt more than anything else.

It wasn't that his mother hadn't loved him. It wasn't that his father hadn't loved him. It wasn't that he had believed they did when they did not, or didn't when they did.

It was that he had been lucid enough to understand there was no distinct line between good and evil. Orion and Walburga Black hadn't been angels, but they weren't demons either. They were humans. And their son had seen it, and he hadn't had the luck to hide behind them being perfect, which would have ended up with him being as endoctrinated as they had been but loved in acts as well as in facts, nor had he been fortunate enough to see them as ultimate evil, and enemies.

Even as a child, he had been able to tell how the world was rotten, and yet how there was good in everyone, even if sometimes that good was not used once in their whole life.

The whole public could tell, now, that Sirius Black was far from crazy or stupid.

And they knew, now, that he had always seen through their facades, and what they had thought of him, the first impressions, the changes of hearts, the masked disgust or the will to give him a chance.

Be it he-is-a-Black-and-they-are-but-a-bunch-of-bastards or anyone-must-be-given-an-opportunity-to-change-for-the-better, the young Lord had always known, or if not known because he wasn't privy to their thoughts, and because at first he had only been a child, at least he had known it was a possibility.

And they knew most of them had thought this way, that be it to give him a chance or to despise him inwardly if not outwardly, he was a Black before anything else, and they had always seen him as a man who had started there, "being a Black".

Unlike many, he had grown up knowing what they mostly thought of him, and he had lived accordingly. He had lived proving them wrong on some points, right on others, but always knowingly.

They had made him what he was, at least partially, because they hadn't been able to forget his last name, and they had always acted accordingly. And him, unbeknown to them, had always been able to see that, when he should have been in the blissfully ignorant years of childhood.

They weren't responsible for his choices, that much was clear. But they were responsible for the restricted number of choices he had been given.

The question, now, was this: what had been his choices between the bad, the worse, and the worst?

Sirius had a pretty good idea of what was going on in his audience's heads, and he had to admit he reveled in it. For once, he had the opportunity to make them see, and to make them understand.

And that he would do.

Of course, there were also the few Death Eaters that had come because, well, they were curious, or supposed to be here, since, you know, "heads of Houses", or gathering intel...

He wasn't sure of what was going on in their particular heads, but if they weren't bullshitting everything he said, because obviously, "endoctrinated idiots", he was certain they weren't enjoying the show. He could live with that.

And then, there was those he knew, those ones who knew, who knew him and what he could do when he was angry... But even amongst those ones, few knew what he was going to talk about.

Who knew?

Harry, Hermione and Ron. Dumbledore and Remus, of course.

No one else in this courtroom knew about what he had done all those years before.

They had asked for it, so he would tell them. But he doubted they wanted to know anymore. He could see it in their eyes, that many of them wanted out already. They didn't want to hear about the truth anymore, because they knew it wouldn't be pretty, and worse, they knew that if he was the one to say it, he'd manage to make them feel horrible, because that was what he did.

But they had asked.

"I will keep their name a secret, because they might want to stay anonymous. If not, they are welcome to come and complete my claim. But one day when I was sixteen, I tried to murder a fellow student."

Sirius had wondered for quite a while how he should act this one out. He couln't look too contrite, not with what he was going to say, but being completely indifferent was simply not an option.

Finally, he would go with honesty. After all, wasn't that what he had promised them?

Honesty.

Even when it wasn't to their liking.

Sirius wasn't sorry about what he had done to Snape. But he was ashamed. So his smile disappeared, and his face was hard and cold, but not repentant.

"To be accurate, I tried to have a fellow student killed. I didn't come to them with a knife or a spell. I wouldn't have murdered them, so to say. Only, they'd be dead, if James hadn't come and stopped them before it was too late, because I had told them where to find what they wanted... without saying what they wanted to know was in the form of a fully transformed werewolf."

Many heads turned slowly to the only werewolf in the courtroom, who also happened to be the accused's friend. Where else would Black have found a werewolf to murder someone else with?

Emilia Croyne, on the other hand, was looking at the Black Lord, and she guessed he was making it a point not to look at Remus Lupin, who looked pale as death, his eyes closed.

"One nosy student, who wanted to know something that wasn't their business, and wanted it so badly they weren't even able to tell there was something fishy in me admitting they just had to find the right secret passage out of Hogwarts, follow it until the end, and undo the locking spells on the door. One student who hated us enough to try and have us expelled, as if we could have gotten a werewolf in school without Dumbledore actually knowing it, and who wanted nothing more than to get rid of him, because, you know, 'werewolf'."

Sirius almost spat that word, as if a caricature of what they did, these bastards who thought themselves better than anyone else because they were humans, because they were wizards, because they were pure-bloods.

But busy as he was making his contempt known, he didn't miss the dark look two Lords / Death Eaters exchanged, as if they had suddenly realized who he was talking about.

Well, if they had, Snape surely wouldn't be happy. On the other hand, they would be even less likely to suspect Snivellus of being a traitor. One does not just go over to the side of the guy who had almost fed them to a werewolf. Not without a pretty good reason. And according to Death Eaters, the death of a mudblood was far from being a good reason, even if said mudblood had been Snape's best friend for years and he had obviously had a crush on her.

"They knew, and they wanted to have proof, and then get the unfortunate werewolf expelled, as if it was his fault one Fenrir Greyback had decided it'd be fun to bit a six years old boy. A boy who had been lucky enough to be eleven when Albus Dumbledore was headmaster, and to be given a place in Hogwarts with some precautions to be taken during the full moons. A boy who had suffered the madness of being a werewolf, and the pain of the transformation for years, and who had worked hard to keep up in class when he missed three days of lessons every month. A boy who helped everyone if they only asked, and who was one of the best souls in Hogwarts."

Tonks was the one to silently growl as a wizard tried to move away from the said "boy", who was a bit older now, but still a werewolf. Andromeda turned around, glared at her daughter who immediately stopped, smiled at Remus even though his eyes were closed, and then glared at every single person who dared to even make a face at the werewolf. They stopped right away.

Then a witch rose from her seat, and went to sit next to Remus, who opened his eyes in surprise. She only shrugged, and looked back at Sirius, who winked playfully. She laughed a silent laugh.

June Summers had gotten an outstanding in Defense against the Dark Arts at her N.E.W.T.s thanks to Remus' help in sixth and seventh years, and Sirius surely hadn't forgotten about that.

But the young Lord turned back to the temporary Chief Warlock.

His face was once again a grave mask.

"I was sixteen, and a bit of a fool."

Several eyebrows arched at that. They doubted Black had ever been a fool, even if he hadn't always been very nice to his classmates. If anything, every time he had done something that could be considered as foolish, he had known it and done it anyway, because being serious and reasonable and perfect just wasn't interesting.

Sirius, of course, acted as if he had seen nothing of the simultaneous-eyebrows-arching motions.

Of course he had known all along, but he had been sixteen. Snivellus had been a pain in the ass for too long already, and then he had become a threat. He had had to make a choice, and maybe it hadn't been the right one, but at least it had been an efficient one.

Snape had had to shut up, after that.

No, his mistake had been to think he could handle the anger of his friends afterwards.

"But more than anything else, I was fed up with the threats and glares, and I didn't want one prejudiced bastard to destroy the live of my friend. So when it was time for the full moon, I grabbed the student and acted as if I was angry. I was angry, sure. But not like that. Not as if it could prevent me from thinking straight. They didn't see that, and they started saying things about secrets we'd rather not see divulged. I played along, and in they end, they thought they had gotten me to spill it, when in truth, I knew exactly what they were playing at. They wanted a proof. I gave them one. I told them how to get to where the werewolf was being confined during the full moon, and they went."

Remus' hands were white and red as he twisted them in all sorts of ways. Sirius didn't miss that either, but he didn't stop, because now that he had started, he had to finish, and the sooner the better.

"My goal wasn't to get them killed, but I knew it was a possibility, and frankly, I didn't care. The best was for them to be frightened beyond words, and if that wasn't possible, for them to get called to Dumbledore's office. Because the thing was, if the headmaster knew they knew, they were powerless. If the headmaster did not know, they could have gone to the newspapers, or talked to someone who would have talked to someone, and Dumbledore's decision or not, and authorization from the Ministry or not, my friend wouldn't have been able to stay at Hogwarts."

And that had been a very reasonable way to get rid of the Snivellus issue.

Only, it hadn't been the only one, and Sirius still couldn't believe he had let himself so out of control at the time. But it had happened, and he would assume his responsability. Or at least, he would let everyone know what they asked for if they started messing with him.

"Of course, I won't try to delude you into thinking I hadn't realized the risks. It'd be useless. We all know what may happens when there are a transformed werewolf and a teenager in the same room. It wouldn't be believable if I said I hadn't realized. I knew they could get killed. I told them anyway."

As she listened to this story she had never known, Bellatrix had to admit it sounded bad for her cousin. After all, he had done something terrible, that almost put him equal to someone like her.

She was even surprised Sirius had ever acted like that. It wasn't as if he was the crazed one in the family. To think Walburga hadn't been happy with her son's ways... If she had known how close to a Death Eater's his ways were...

Good thing she hadn't known, really, or she'd never have let him go.

In the heads of Houses' tribune, Theodore Rowle caught his niece's meaningful glance from the spectators' tribunes. He had been watching the whole trial with interest, but this had come to a point many people were too taken aback for it to continue normally.

The Rowle Lord had to say, Sirius Black was one interesting pure-blood.

First of all, he had managed to get every single person's trust, if not in him, at least in his words. And all that, while story-telling them how he had broken several laws and planned on murdering two people so far. For good reasons, yes. But still.

He was so going to see to it that Eleanor and the Black Lord get married, if his niece kept on giving the young man those looks. Family dinners would become so entertaining...

And it would have the much appreciated advantage of driving away the family members with questionnable jobs involving dark capes, stupid masks, and the Dark Arts.

Back to Croyne, the temporary Chief Warlock was still trying to process the piece information. More than the fact that Sirius Black had tried to feed a student to a werewolf when he had been only sixteen years old, she was more astonished that he had confessed to having done it willingly.

This was even worse than having used an Unforgivable, she realized, and he still had told them, when no one in twenty years had ever known anything.

She wasn't able to say anything, but fortunately for her, the Rowle Lord had raised his hand from the Lords' tribune. She nodded to him her assent.

"Lord Black, you mentioned the intervention of the late Lord Potter in the... rescue of this student. Did he know your plan beforehand?"

The young Lord looked Theodore in the eyes for some time before answering. The older Lord had a feeling the wizard would have smiled, if the conversation had allowed it. But as they were discussing how his sixteen-years-old self had tried to get a classmate killed, he hadn't.

"None of my friends knew about it. James was too nice to do something like that, even if it was necessary, and yes, I am talking about the borderline bully that was my friend, and not another James. James Potter was a teenager with an overinflated ego and a tenacious jealousy, but he never did anything really dangerous to anyone, unless to defend himself or others. He could be horrible when he wanted too, and a downright prat, but he wasn't dangerous. As for the rat, he would have gone to James right away if I had told him what I planned to do. He'd rather give the dirty work to someone else, you see, and at the time, he wasn't yet a traitorous bastard. And do you really think I'd have told Remus I wanted to use him to frighten / possibly murder a student? I'm not stupid, thank you very much. First thing, he wouldn't have let me do it, and second, he couldn't be held responsible if he didn't know anything."

Sirius saw a doubtful look on many faces, and rolled his eyes.

"My bad, I didn't formulate that as I should have. Of course your stupid anti-werewolves laws would have considered him responsible if an idiot walked right into the place he kept himself locked up during the full mon, with locking spells and layers of protections, knowing full well what they'd walk into, but believing that somehow, they'd get out unscathed, or maybe the werewolf was in a cage or something!"

The young Lord snorted disdainfully, and even if he was right, he knew that Frank was making faces at him, again, from behind the Burke Lady. Frank wasn't an idiot, and had understood right away who this tale was about.

Even if the former Auror was quite horrified with what his friend had just admitted to have done, Frank also knew how Snape had been with the Marauders that year. Saying that the Slytherin had been bullied would be a lie: both sides were horrible to each other, and if the Gryffindors had been humiliating him more times than not, the Slytherin had never shied away from using dark magic against them, sometimes even spells that were obviously straight out of a Dark Arts book. And each time one of those spells had reached one of the other boys, Sirius had been the one to lessen the effects, and if needed, to get his friends to the infirmary.

As for himself, the Black heir had never been hit with anything truly dangerous. The worst spells aimed at him, he dismissed with a quick flick of his wand. After all, he had a thing with the Dark Arts.

And as he had just proved, Sirius didn't need the Dark Arts to be terrifying.

"What I meant exactly, dear public, was that if he didn't know anything, and it turned to the worst, Remus wouldn't have been able to say to Dumbledore how it had happened. The fuzzy memories from the transformation could easily have been erased or turned into something else. You wouldn't believe what one learn when they grow up in the House of Black. My relatives had strange ideas on education, if making me read _How to make a body disappear in eighteen lessons_ at ten years old is any indication. Then again, it was aunt Cassiopeia's, so I shouldn't be surprised... Yet I still am."

Now, that caused a silence in the courtroom.

After some time, Theodore Rowle thought it would be good to get the trial back on tracks. The Black Lord was decidedly having way too much fun with all this, it'd be indecent if it wasn't his own trial. Or maybe it was indecent, because it was the young Lord's trial.

Emilia Croyne, blinking from time to time, just waved him to go on when he raised his hand again.

"If I get your meaning right, you intended to make it look like it had happened... another way?"

"Another way than by being chewed upon by a werewolf? Of course. I'd have made it seem so what had happened was the exact truth, but without the werewolf bit. There are quite a few dangerous places in Hogwarts, though I know for certain one cannot just stumble upon them, because there are powerful repulsing charms to keep the wandering student away. But I was never a wandering student, and every secret passage or deadly trap James, Remus, Peter and I found were so on purpose. I could very well have led that student to one of our hideouts, and not without warning them that it wasn't so easy to get in, and some things guarding it were possibly deadly, because they had been pestering me to know the truth about this or that. It is basically the truth of what I did, after all. They aready knew Remus was a werewolf, they only needed proof, and they surely hadn't missed the fact that it was a full moon. I'd have been responsible for leading them knowingly to their death, but not for their sick curiosity, nor for their habit of being nosy about others' business."

Some people mumbled in the public, but thanks to the silencing charms, nothing was heard in the courtroom. The Rowle Lord took an instant to watch the odd expressions it made on their faces, and then went back to the problem at hand.

No matter what these people thought, Theodore knew that the Black Lord was right. At most, he'd have been charged with deceiving his victim to their death, and not actual murder. One who knew there was a werewolf behind a door and wanted desperately to find something to destroy the said werewolf's life couldn't be considered as a simple victim if they walked in.

And there was one thing that Sirius Black had said that made him infinitely different from Death Eaters, or even common criminals.

"And we should believe you when you say you'd have surrendered yourself once the deed done?"

Being able to commit a crime and to accept one's responsibility weren't usually qualities that went well witch each other.

"Once again, I never intended for them to get killed. I knew it was risk. But it wasn't my goal. If a plan of mine goes astray, I take responsibility. But the prospect of failure will never be one to stop me, because some times one has to act for things to be as they should, be it by changing, or by staying the same. I had to protect my friend. Even at the cost of my well-being."

And with that, the Black Lord had once again said how unlikely it was for him to have betrayed his best friend that Halloween night.

Theodore was rather pleased with himself, because it looked like not many other people were able to think straight anymore.

In the end, it was Emilia Croyne who broke the silence again.

"Lord Black, do you even regret those actions?"

Sirius sat straighter on his seat, and took the time to look at the faces in the courtroom.

The officials looked rather disturbed, and Scrimgeour was somewhere between glee and horror. On the other side, the Lords and Ladies seemed completely lost, not in what had been said, but in what they were supposed to think now. That left the spectators, friends, and family.

Remus looked like he was about to vomit, but it was actually better than before. Dora had joined him and June Summers, that the metamorphmagus was eyeing warily. Sirius squinted. What was it that his young cousin's facial expression was reminding him of, exactly?

Yeah, no.

Let's not think about that.

His eye traveled to Andromeda and Narcissa, and the two were almost glued to each other in a sisterly embrace. Busted.

Sirius took a moment to look up at the ceiling, wondering what Bella was thinking of her sisters' reunion and the fact that she couldn't be with them right now.

Then he went back to his audience, though Bellatrix could be seen as some sort of uninvited public.

Harry didn't look utterly disturbed by the latest topic, maybe because he knew already, and because he didn't like Snivellus more than Sirius had at the same age.

At last, the young Lord looked at the other members of the Order of the Phoenix. They had become as shifty as the other spectators, and he sighed. He had guessed that this particular truth wouldn't go down easily, after all, it was about him trying to murder another teenager.

So Sirius looked back at Emilia Croyne, and he sighed again.

"Truthfully, Chief Warlock? I don't. I don't, because that student has been sworn to secrecy after the incident, and I have been punished as I believe I deserved to be, and so, Remus was safe. I did what I had to do, and if they hadn't been stupid enough to go and search for a werewolf under a full moon, this would have never happened. I don't regret keeping the ones I care for safe."

The temporary Chief Warlock squinted, and Croyne noticed she was holding her breath, waiting for more.

Because there had to be more.

Sirius Black wasn't a nice guy, that much had been made clear by the man himself from the beginning. But he wasn't either a wizard who did something bad and didn't care about it, or she had been wrong about his personality from the beginning.

Where was the man who had made them feel the shame they should have felt the day they had refused to listen to him?

Where was the wizard who could make fair and unfair the bane of their consciences?

Had she been wrong all along?

And if that was the case, how could he be here, and tell them the truth, and nothing but the truth? Was he not afraid of punishment? Was Sirius Black truly able to tell the truth for the truth, and nothing but the truth, when there wasn't freedom promised at the end?

It wasn't as if he was forced to tell the truth by the sinemendatium. All it did was keeping him from lying. He could have twisted the truth for it to sound better. Or just not said anything.

But he had talked.

And the truth was that Sirius Black had still things to say as an answer to that particular question.

His voice startled more than one when he talked again.

"However, I do regret that I let my anger control me like that. I am ashamed of it, for every time I ever let my feelings dictate my actions, something went wrong. James barely stopped that student in time, because I told him at the last moment. Peter escaped and killed twelve muggles in doing so because I was unable to think rationally. I spent twelve years in Azkaban because I hadn't been able to speak right away when the Aurors came. Peter escaped again, two years ago, because I forgot it was the full moon again and was focused only on the damn rat. Every single time I let my emotions get in the way, I overlooked one thing, one single thing, and it made my world hell."

Emilia Croyne didn't feel like she had the right to ask how the werewolf incident had affected him afterwards, because she had a feeling no one would like the answer. Certainly the young Lord's friends hadn't liked what had happened at all... and maybe that had been the seed that had cost him his best friend's life and the others' trust in him."

She didn't get to ask, and she was thankful for that.

"I don't regret doing what I had to do, Chief Warlock Croyne, but I am ashamed that the only times I allowed myself to be humane, it proved to be a disaster. And that is the exact reason why I can't allow myself to regret anything like that."

With these two sentences, the courtroom froze.

The unease that had taken over the public as Sirius Black had told them about the attempted murder he was guilty of disappeared. Suddenly, no one thought he was a monster anymore.

The only thing that went on and on in their minds was that Lord Black felt that being someone normal was a blessing he wasn't allowed to taste, or it would turn into a curse.

A hand was raised in the Lords' tribune, and Croyne took the opportunity to let Lady Ollivander, cousin to the famous wandmaker, speak in her stead. Right now, the temporary Chief Warlock wasn't feeling up to the task, and she could tell she wouldn't be before several minutes.

This trial was proving to be testing.

Lady Ollivander was even older than her cousin Garrick Ollivander, and his abduction had added to her white hair and lined face more than she cared to notice. She shared his pale silver eyes, and when they met with the bright silver of the Black Lord's, many felt as if something had been triggered. What, they didn't know.

"You intended to modify your friend's memory, correct?"

Sirius tilted his head, but didn't look at the said friend, as some had expected him to. Remus knew that already, he had told him his whole plan after the incident.

That is, he had told him when the werewolf had deigned to hear him out.

Three months later.

After Sirius had shut down the connection between his feelings and his brain with his strongest occlumency shields for two months, because he couldn't bear the hostility between him and his friends, that had been, at the time, more "former" than "actual".

Because this Sirius had completely freaked out the whole student body, and not only the Slytherins, for once, and more than anybody else, the other Marauders. After two weeks, the teachers were already trying to get Dumbledore to break the teenager's mental shields, and after one month, James, Remus and Peter had been dreading the time he'd come to their dormitory to sleep. In the end, they had decided they had to talk to him, because it was as if Sirius was nothing more than a body and a brain, with no heart nor soul.

When they had, the Black heir had let the shields down, and had been back, to everyone's relief.

Everyone except the Slytherins, who quite liked that version of Sirius Black, not because he was on their side, but because he hadn't been hexing them or frightening them out of their minds when he thought their actions were more shameful than usual.

Sirius sure as hell wasn't going to talk about that before all those strangers, some of which had witnessed the change, for they had been students in that time, but most of whom had no idea what exactly had happened back then.

He had already told them why the Marauders had been at odds for three months. He wasn't going to tell them what his weaknesses were.

So the young Lord only looked at Juliet Ollivander, and never to his friend, as he answered the question.

"I did intend to modify his memories, because Remus is too honest for his own good. Too honest, for people like you, who would have had him carted away to Azkaban at sixteen without even asking what had actually happened. Too honest, for people who can't see there is more to someone than their blood... or their species."

Many people, amongst the Lords, the Ladies, the officials, and the spectators, shifted on their seats.

Sirius was far from surprised at his audience's reactions.

There were the ones who believed hard as nails they were better than anyone else, for various reasons, reasons that often were blood purity and magic, making the half-bloods and muggle-borns, and muggles, inferior beings. Those hadn't felt bothered by what he was implying, of course.

As those who really didn't care about all the talk about human or not human, magic or not magic, and just said everyone deserved to live, and, please, be left alone, for there was no reason to bother someone about their capacity to use magic or about their blood. Those people only nodded their approval, and for some of them eyed the shifting people disapprovingly.

But there were also those who liked to pretend they weren't prejudiced, and who felt they shouldn't be, and yet were. Or those who pretended they weren't, because it was a better image to show the world, when in truth and in private, they were.

And last but not least, there were those who didn't care about blood purity, and yet were asses to the others species, because hell, they're not like us!

The Black Lord had just implied that, more than it being about "muggle or not muggle, that is the question", it was also about "human or not human". That the ones who prided themselves in not being prejudiced only lied to themselves. And, finally, that there shouldn't be distinctions between conscious beings, other than the fact that centaurs were four-legged and goblins weren't tall. Not the same body, not the same mind, sure, but alive and conscious as anyone else.

Another Lord claimed the right to speak, and Emilia Croyne gave it to him, thinking about how well the Black Lord could get their attention away from the actual point of every question: his guilt. Yet, even knowing what he was doing, the witch couldn't ignore that his ways were getting to her, and maybe, that had to mean something. Something like, he was guilty of some things, but he was right when he explained how he had come to such ends. How he wasn't so guilty, in fact.

"In the end, Lord Black, you're trying to make us see how not prejudiced you are."

No, I'm trying to make you forget about my crimes by turning your own flaws against you. Sirius guessed he couldn't roll his eyes and answer that to Lord Abbot, who was still angry with what had happened earlier, outside the courtroom. So he didn't, and made a sickening smile instead.

Benjamin Abbot gulped when he saw the smile he was given, feeling once again that he wasn't going to like what would follow.

Still, he went on, determined to undermine the other Lord's confidence. He didn't believe in Sirius Black's innocence, even if he had to admit that what the young Lord had said during the trial made sense, so far.

Maybe it was more that he didn't believe Blacks to be good, than him to be guilty of being a Death Eater. One could be a danger to society and an evil bastard without working for another evil bastard.

"But these are only words. And prejudiced or not, you have proved yourself to be a dangerous wizard, more than able in the Dark Arts, and not afraid of doing 'what has to be done'. If we judge you innocent and you walk free, what guarantee do we have that you won't just do 'what has to be done' and curse your enemies into oblivion, whoever these enemies really are, muggles or Death Eaters? After all, the Dark Arts are rather useful, if illegal, to take care of such issues."

Sirius squinted at the Abbot Lord. His smile became more thin, and slowly turned into a smirk.

 

 


	18. There shall be good Blacks with just as much fame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This trial is turning out to be twice as long as I had first thought it'd be...  
> Oh, well.
> 
> I really considered titling this chapter "The big, boiling, burning soup pot of the painful truth", just so you know.

It was an interesting question, after all.

Really, that's true! What told them he wasn't going to get bored and torture a few people, enemies, preferably, once he'd be free? Eh? Eh?! What told them he wasn't going to do just that? And, even if something was currently guaranteeing them just that, who said the something wasn't lying? Or that this something just didn't know Sirius Black at all? After all, the guy had a thing with the Dark Arts!

No, truly, Sirius would have rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the question, if he hadn't prepared an answer, that he knew would certainly not please everyone in the courtroom, but that was exactly what made it so entertaining.

Sure, he couldn't lie, thanks to the sinemendatium. But because he thought it true now, didn't mean he wouldn't change his mind later on. Whether or not he would torture someone with the Dark Arts, one of those days, wasn't a question he could frankly answer with a "yes" or a "no".

Of course he had no intention to do so. It was in fact so unlikely he could truthfully answer "no". It was the truth, now. Sirius Black, as he was this day, in this courtroom, during this trial, would surely not torture someone with the Dark Arts.

He could say "no", and it wouldn't be a lie. The sinemendatium wouldn't keep him from saying it, because it wouldn't be a lie.

But this question was in reality whether or not he thought it possible that he would, whether or not he intended to torture someone with dark magic.

No one could answer truthfully about the future, because even one's intentions could give in when confronted to the reality of the world, to the fact that no one does control the world.

Sirius' smirk only grew wider when he answered the Abbot Lord's question, for he knew the man would surely not like his answer.

What could he say? He liked riling people.

"You have absolutely no guarantee that I won't do just what you said, Lord Abbot, because I don't think you take my word for what it's worth."

Or in other words, why was he even bothering to justify himself in front of people who clearly didn't even want to listen to what he had to say?

"However, I'd like to point out that your question is utterly stupid. No one knows what the future hold for them, and I'm pretty sure many people have done things they never believed themselves to be capable of in their life. Because I say I won't do something, doesn't mean I can't change my mind about it, or that time and the circumstances will never bring me farther than I'd have expected. Even my word is not enough of a guarantee, not even your word is, Lord Abbot, nor Dumbledore's word, or the word of anyone you trust more than anybody on this earth."

Sirius sat a bit more comfortably in his armchair, still watching Benjamin Abbot right in the eyes. He didn't intend to look away as long as he wouldn't be finished with the stupid question of whether or not he was able to predict his own future, for it was exactly what it meant to ask for something like guarantees about his future behavior.

The Abbot Lord was visibly turning paler every second their eye contact lasted, and Sirius wondered absent-mindedly if he could possibly become see-through by the time he'd be done with him. That'd definitely be a sight. Or a non-sight. Whatever, it'd be funny.

To everybody's surprise, the young Black Lord sighed.

"For these reasons, I don't think I can answer, sinemendatium or not, your question honestly. Well, it'd be honest, but maybe not as the future will come to be. Nevertheless, I can speak about your question and worries, and why exactly you shouldn't worry about it. Why I personally believe I won't do such thing as using the Dark Arts against my opponents unless they give me no other choice to save my life, or others'."

Obviously, it'd have been better if the Black Lord had promised he wouldn't use the Dark Arts at all, Emilia Croyne thought as the accused was speaking. What he had just said implied he wouldn't shy away from using them if needed. It implied he was, in the end, a dark wizard, even if he didn't usually act like one.

The thing was, Sirius Black wasn't denying he was as good a dark wizard as another one.

But because one had a knife in hand, it didn't mean they intended to stab someone with it.

"Muggles are fascinating, you know."

Several people blinked in the courtroom, not sure if they had really heard what they thought they had heard. And it wasn't because they couldn't believe Black had just said that, even if many obviously didn't share his point of view on the matter, be it because to them muggles were worms, or they just didn't care enough to think they were something like fascinating. No, the thing was, they had no idea how this fitted into the conversation.

Of course, Arthur Weasley was fervently nodding at the Black Lord, many Lords and Ladies thought drily as they tried to widen the space between them and the muggle-loving Lord Weasley. You never knew, maybe it was contagious.

No, but seriously, what did it have to do with anything?

Sirius didn't let himself be disheartened by his audience's obvious lack of understanding of his genius thread of thought. Actually, he quite liked it. If he hadn't, he certainly wouldn't have toyed with his public for so long, losing them, getting them back, losing them again, only for them to finally see the big picture, more as a shock than as a slow realization. He liked to lead the ones who were listening to him onto false ways, pointing at the banquet table waiting for them at the end of the path, and suddenly, without warning, shove them aside into the big, boiling, burning soup pot of the painful truth.

He didn't do that, usually, that was true.

He wasn't a cruel man.

Okay, maybe a bit. But not so much.

He didn't do that to people who hadn't deserved it. He didn't act like that with people who weren't reveling into the belief that he was a bastard deserving the worst suffering. With people who had done nothing to him, who just looked at him like a human being, and not like some kind of wonder, some kind of criminal legend, or even some kind of poor misunderstood thing, he spoke normaly. When there was no reason to torture one's brain, and get them started out of their comfortable prejudices, he acted like any other human being.

Sirius was able to speak like anyone else, and to laugh, and to joke, and live.

Like everyone else.

But to these people, most of whom didn't want to acknowledge that he, too, was human, he would twist their minds, not to destroy them, but to make them feel pain.

And the part when his audience was utterly lost was one he quite liked. The people in this courtroom were surely lulled into false safety. They thought there was nothing he could hurt them with in such a claim. Muggles were fascinating! And so what?

But those who were a bit cleverer, and who had noticed how he worked, knew he was going to turn this very simple, very innocent, and very beside-the-point claim into something they wouldn't like.

It wasn't so hard to figure out, really.

It was what Sirius Black had done so far, each and every single bloody time.

Emilia Croyne knew it, she could see it just by looking at the public, be they on the spectators' seats or in the heads of Houses' tribune, be they convinced of Black's guilt or doubting his so-called evilness. The temporary Chief Warlock could also see in some people's eyes that they had understood, too. But most of the time, it was only a shimmering understanding, for they were unable to just go past the knowledge of what the young Lord was doing with their mind. They knew, but they couldn't do anything about how it affected them.

Lord Black was able to be a particularly manipulative wizard, when he wanted to, if even those who knew they were being manipulated couldn't shake the manipulation off.

Then again, the witch thought, it was perhaps because no matter how manipulative Black was about it, it was still the truth that he told them.

Croyne contained a sigh, and decided she'd better scout around the courtroom in search of this shimmering understanding she had glimpsed here and there amongst the public while listening to the young Lord's speech.

Not that, for now, Sirius Back was talking.

It seemed this was a perfect moment, according to the Black Lord, for the public to get a bit more anxious, waiting for the other shoe to drop, or to lose themselves in a feeling of false safety. Because yes, some apparently seemed to believe that if the young Lord hadn't said a thing for the previous ten seconds, it surely meant there wasn't much to fear from this particular part of his speech.

As if Black could possibly have said "muggles are fascinating, you know" just for the fun, or even better, because he didn't know what else to say.

This was so likely to happen that Croyne wouldn't even bet an already used bubblegum on it.

Nevermind the idiots, the temporary Chief Warlock would rather watch out for the ones who knew the danger of just assuming things about Sirius Black and the trial-from-hell he was seemingly determined to give them.

Because so far, the witch had the nasty feeling they were the ones being tried, and not Black.

If the young Lord was smirking at them while allowing them some repiste, it wasn't out of good will.

Those who had undestood that were scarce, apparently.

Albus Dumbledore was, of course, not at all affected by Black's speech, but it was surely because he agreed with the man since even before the trial. It was the same with several people sitting around him, and who were definitely acquaintances of the Black Lord. Still, even amongst those, some were completely enthralled, no matter that they were on Black's side to begin with. A few, like Harry Potter, the Blacks in general, and Remus Lupin, were shaken by their friend or relative's speech, but they seemed to know full well what the man was doing. Still, most of them were affected.

Then there were a few people amongst the regular public who knew too.

One journalist in particular had that greedy look in his eyes, waiting with glee for anything that came out of the Black Lord's mouth, knowing very well he'd have plenty of things to analyze in his next article, about how most people in a courtroom were completely blind to manipulation when it was well used.

Eleanor Rowle was also worth mentioning. She had been the one to stand up for Black in the Atrium, and she seemed to have one very sharp mind. Croyne wouldn't be surprised if the two pure-bloods were to become fast friends.

As for the Lords and Ladies, those who weren't completely oblivious were most of the time former Slytherins or Ravenclaws. From what the temporary Chief Warlock had witnessed so far, they were some seven or eight people... Lord Rowle, Lady Ollivander and Lord Longbottom stood out, in fact, for obvious reasons. Frank Longbottom was a known friend of Sirius Black, and had miraculously gotten out of a cruciatus-induced madness only days before. Lord Rowle and Lady Ollivander had been the only ones, of the heads of House who had spoken, not to have been verbally laminated by the accused, for they had asked sensible questions, that didn't outright show disdain or disbelief.

Now that she thought about it...

Emilia Croyne squinted at the Rowle Lord. Was it a smirk that she could see...?

It was definitely a smirk, though well concealed.

Theodore Rowle and Sirius Black seemed to have at least one personality trait in common; they were unabashedly enjoying the show.

And Croyne was pretty sure that Rowle's intervention had been more to help the trial to go on again than to ask an actual question, as if the man had known all along that Black had a plan, and the public was being totally slow on the uptake, and it was all very good and everything, but could they please make use of their brains, for once?

When the Black Lord decided it was time to go back to business, she was starring at Lord Nott, who decidedly knew what was going on, and apparently didn't like it at all. It surely had to do with the fact that while the previous Lord Nott was in jail for Death Eater activities since roughly three weeks, his brother simply hated anything that had to do with the Dark Arts since it had taken his siblings away, and that in various and always unpleasant ways.

Both Emilia Croyne and Roderic Nott started at the sound of a definitely-too-cheerful-for-it-to-be-harmless voice.

"We wizards and witches have magic, and with it we made many incredible things. We have talking paintings, moving pictures, auto-knitting needles. To you, pure and half-bloods, it may seem like normal stuff. But ask any muggle-born, and they will tell you it is not normal, at all. Paintings and pictures are not supposed to move, because they are nothing more than images. For muggles, the very idea of moving photos is ridiculous."

And for wizards, the fact that a person on a picture would not move and go away was wondrous, because, you know, didn't they get bored after a while?

Sirius could very well see that on the puzzled faces of many of his audience, while the muggle-borns in the room were nodding intently.

"Truly, were you to draw something, it would not move unless you magick it in some way. A picture is a picture, it doesn't have a counsciousness, not even when we give them an artificial, magical one. That is the truth of the world, and that is the truth we deny on a daily basis, because we have magic. But in the end, it does not change anything, that we refuse to see the world for what it is."

At that point, many people were simply lost about what the Black Lord was getting at, but Sirius didn't care. This was the fun, nice part of this particular argument.

The next part wouldn't be so nice and fun at all.

"Muggles refuse to see that magic is real, for various reasons, the biggest being that we keep it away from their knowledge. But apart from the fact that they ignore and dismiss, when it is shoved into their faces, the existence of magic, they see the world much better than we do. And so, they have to compensate with what we can do, and they can't. It took them years, decades, centuries, and maybe some things will take millenia, but in the end, they always find a way to make things that we can't even envisage without the help of magic, happen. We use magic, they created sciences."

And with the looks, and sometimes scowls, on the faces of the people in the various tribunes, Sirius had no doubt about why muggle studies wasn't a much loved subject at Hogwarts. Wizards truly didn't have an inch of common sense, and when it came to logic...

Better not to talk about that.

"Now, you might wonder why I am telling you all this."

In the spectators' tribune, Remus was rolling his eyes so pointedly he had a feeling he might just get stuck seeing his brain if he persisted. Of course the public had no idea where his friend was going with that reasoning. Hell, for once, even the werewolf hadn't even the slightest idea as to what it was about.

Remus knew his best friend better than most, and so far into the trial, he had always had an inkling about what Sirius was trying to do. But there, even he was lost.

Not lost like most of the public, though. He, at least, understood what the young Lord was talking about. With his mother being a muggle, and his condition, he had lived more like a muggle during his first years than most half-bloods. Sirius was right about what he was saying, even if the ones who had grown up amongst witches and wizards didn't seem to understand half of what he was saying.

But even understanding what was being said, Remus simply didn't get what his friend was trying to achieve with that.

And this, in itself, was maybe the biggest clue as to how much they wouldn't like what was going to come.

Sighing at Sirius' wildness, Remus just rubbed his fingertips againt his left temple.

If he didn't leave this trial with a headache, he'd count himself lucky.

"Lord Abbot asked me a question I can't answer, as to whether or not I would torture my enemies by using the Dark Arts in a more or less near future."

Sirius was smiling in some sort of sly way at Benjamin Abbot as he said that. He didn't bother to keep his thoughts from showing on his face. Sure, he was under sinemendatium, and he couldn't respond because of the impossibility to know the future, but still, there was something hilarious in the question itself.

A few people snorted in the courtroom, but the only one that was truly audible was Lady Prewett's, for the others had been... well, silenced by the silencing charm over the spectators' seats.

As if anyone would answer that peculiar question when asked.

Like, sure, I'm in fact on my way to a friendly torture party, would you like to join us?

No, no one would ever answer that, unless they were under the most potent truth serum. Or maybe if they were completely stoned. Or utterly crazed.

"But, regardless that I can't answer, the right question is not this one. Lord Abbot asked if I'd do so with the Dark Arts, thinking in a totally wizarding way that if I were to torture someone, and may I point out how insulting such a question is?, I would do so not only with magic, but with dark magic at that. The right question would have been about me torturing someone, end of the story."

Remus blinked, feeling this was going a way he really, really didn't like.

"Now, how does that relate to muggles and their fascinating ways? It's very simple. We have magic. They don't. But both us and them know of torture."

The Black Lord hadn't stopped looking at Benjamin Abbot, and the half-blood Lord desperately wished he would stop it, now. Because it definitely sounded like Black was implying he wouldn't use magic to torture someone, but he could do just as well without magic.

People who knew Sirius also knew this wasn't exactly the point of the young Lord's speech. But Abbot didn't know that, and it was easy to read it on his face.

Tonks arched an eyebrow at her mother's cousin. There was no way in hell that Sirius would ever pick up a torture tool and use it on anyone, even a Death Eater, even Voldemort himself.

Of course, Sirius could use the Dark Arts, and he wasn't against doing what needed to be done.

But torture was, when it wasn't just for the fun, for the purpose of getting someone to talk. Sirius could do torture, and in a way, he was doing it right now. But it was mental torture, not physical torture. Mental torture had the advantage that sometimes, when it was done with good intentions, it could also lead someone to see the truth.

And no matter what others thought, the use of mental torture, even if on a lower scale, was something common. Usually, it wasn't too much, so people didn't think of it as torture. But all in all, it was the same idea, applied more or less forcefully. Forcing someone into a guilt-trip? Wasn't it playing with this person's feelings and reasoning to get them to do what one wanted?

Sirius didn't need any kind of skills at physical torture. He was good enough with the minds. And if it wasn't enough to get an information out of someone, he gave up and looked for another way.

Sirius Black wasn't a monster.

He could fight with the worst spells that existed, he could force someone to see what they'd rather ignore, but he wasn't one to physically harm anyone if not to defend himself or someone else.

Sirius Black could use the Dark Arts, but that didn't make him a monster.

As not using them didn't mean one wasn't a monster.

"We have curses that make a person bleed out until there is not a drop of blood left in their body. Muggles imagined the iron maiden, in which a person is locked and pierced by several blades if they so much as move an inch. We have bone-breaking hexes. Muggles created the breaking wheel, on which a victim is tied up and made to roll again and again, or bludgeoned until no bone is left unbroken. We have spells that slowly force all air out of the lungs. Muggles had the idea to tie someone to a bench and put a tissue on their face before continuously pouring water upon it, preventing them from breathing. What we did with magic, they did without magic."

Alright, Tonks had to admit, Sirius was damn knowledgeable about torture, it might seem a bit suspicious to someone who didn't know him and the Blacks in general.

From what her mother had told her, the metamorphmagus had gathered that if there was one thing the House of Black hadn't deemed downright shameful to be interested in about muggles, it was their most frightful ways. And how to adapt them to sorcery, of course.

And as Sirius had his kind-of-perfect memory, that made him remember, if not word for word and sentence for sentence, everything that had ever been told to him, or anything that he had ever read, it was to be expected, that he'd know of such things.

Now, obviously, the young Lord didn't have a constant access to everything that was in his memory, but if he searched for it, he just had to ask, and it would come back. If sometimes he didn't know the name exactly, he knew the concept, and that was enough.

Sirius didn't really forget things. He just put them aside.

And that was why he was so difficult to deal with. He never forgot what had been told to him. He always remembered when someone had been unfair to him. When he looked you in the eyes, he knew exactly how you had treated him in the past, and he expected just as much.

He knew people could change, at least partially. Sure, he believed that what made someone who they were couldn't be altered, that someone greedy would always be so, that someone good couldn't really become bad. But he also held for a fact that if someone knew who they really were, they could work on it. Their efforts wouldn't change who they were or how they reacted. But they would change how they acted, and to the world, that was what mattered.

That was why, even if he knew someone to have flaws, like everyone else, really, like himself, too, he always gave them a chance to redeem.

That is, when it was possible, and not endangering someone else.

Sirius wasn't blind just because he was aware not everybody acted as they'd have liked, be it in the bad, or the good way.

Tonks surely wouldn't have liked it if someone had told her that there was another person who was thinking along the same lines, up above the chandelier of the courtroom, and that this person was the ghost of one Bellatrix Lestrange née Black.

Bella, as everyone else this time, was wondering about what exactly in hell her cousin was trying to achieve.

She wasn't surprised in the least, because that was how Sirius did things.

Yet, she had no idea where exactly he was going.

When no brain-storming helped her to see further into Sirius' plans, the ghost sighed, rolled her eyes, and otherwise did many things that expressed her frustration. It was only once all that had been done, that Bellatrix settled on observing her cousin instead of torturing her brain into searching for the deeper meaning.

The deeper meaning would come to her, and to the whole audience, when it'd be time. She had no doubts that Sirius had meant his speech to be exactly this misleading.

Unfortunately, Bella couldn't see much from where she was. For example, she just couldn't see the temporary Chief Warlock or the Lords and Ladies. She had a perfect view, however, over the public tribune, and especially Andromeda and Narcissa.

If the two thought they could get away with holding hands when the topic was getting too close to the emotionally-dangerous-zone, particularly Narcissa's, they were terribly wrong. From where she was hovering, Bellatrix could just see everything. She was feeling a bit like the all-seing eye of God, right now.

Of course, that would have been more accurate if she could also see the other half of the courtroom, but well, one had to do with what was given to them.

But seriously, it was unusual for Narcissa to be so shaken, so... fragile.

Bella had a feeling it had to do with Lucius' imprisonment, but still, there was something else... Maybe she should get Sirius to investigate a bit. The ghost knew the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord well enough. It was more than likely that there would be some sort of consequences for the failure of Narcissa's husband to lead the attack at the Department of Mysteries and win over the prophecy.

If there was any way she could get Narcissa out of the Dark Bastard's grasp...

Wait wait wait, had she just thought what she believed she had thought?

If there was any way she could get Narcissa out of the Dark Bast...

Right.

Not the "Dark Lord". Not the "Dark Bastard" either.

Voldemort.

Sirius was seriously rubbing off on her, it seemed. And while it was all good to get rid of her Death Eater's habits, Bella wasn't yet feeling too eager to embrace her cousin's ways.

It was waaaaay too soon for that to happen.

Anyway, she looked at Sirius, who was looking very teacher-like right now, and a teacher-like Sirius, that was pretty disturbing.

"The point is, dear public, that how I do things doesn't matter. Be it with a curse or with a knife, if I bleed someone to death, what matters is that I killed them, and not how I did it. Lord Abbot was kind enough to imply I might have the intention to use the Dark Arts on my enemies, but he seems to have forgotten that in the end, there are other ways to make one suffer. Dark Arts or muggle ways, the means don't matter. Only the ends do."

Sirius was still staring at Benjamin Abbot, and the other Lord started to wonder if the man ever blinked, because it certainly felt as if the Black Lord had never ever broken eye contact since he had been stupid enough to ask a question. Or maybe Black was so good at this thing that he blinked just when he himself did, and so he hadn't noticed?

What was certain, however, was that Lord Abbot was definitely trying not to think about torture and death and curses and knives, because thinking about torture and death and curses and knives was something that he didn't particularly like to do. It made him feel really bad. A bit as if he was going to throw up, actually.

Unfortunately for him, talking about torture and death and curses and knives was exactly what the accused had been doing so far.

And apparently, he wasn't done yet.

Black finally broke eye contact, and looked around the courtroom. There was something stern in his gaze, this time, something hard, and unforgiving, too.

"All of you, when a criminal is brought to you, you immediately think 'dark wizard' and 'Dark Arts' and 'get this shameless monster out of here and to Azkaban'. But if the criminal never used the Dark Arts, you seem to think it's not too bad, actually, maybe there is yet redemption for them, no matter what they did exactly. And from that, you moved from 'dark wizard' as in who uses the Dark Arts to 'dark wizard' meaning who can use the Dark Arts. You don't really care about what one has done, but only about what they could do."

In other words, they didn't care about what Sirius was guilty of, but they did care about what he could do if one day he woke up fancying himself a great torturer.

"If someone had 'angel' tatooed on their forehead, you'd forgive them the worst atrocities, but because I am a Black, because I am more than able to use the darkest magics, I obviously am a bastard who will come to murder you in your sleep. Forget second chances, you don't even give a first chance to people like me."

Sirius' voice went down to a whisper. Yet, the silence was so thick no one missed what came next.

"And the best is that you let those who live up to your expectations alone. All the Blacks who behaved like Blacks, you let them alone, unless they were brought to the Wizengamot with indubitable evidences, like Bellatrix. But the Blacks who try to get away from the family cliché, you can't help but suspect them, make them targets for your hainous accusations. It is so easy, isn't it?, to go after those who don't have the support of the House of Black. So much easier than to go after those you really fear, those who have the money and the name to crush you and make your destruction be regarded as an unfortunate accident."

In the family's tribune, Narcissa felt her sister tense as the words slithered over the audience.

She didn't take time to wonder how Andromeda had lived after being disowned. She just reversed roles, and held her sister's hand, as her sister had held hers when the trial had hit too close to home.

"I always tried to be different from my family and its repute. And that is what I got as a reward."

Sirius finished his speech on this sentence, and gestured to the whole courtroom, to the whole trial, in fact.

His mouth was twisted in a caricature of a smile that reeked of contempt.

"I always did my best to be someone else than a Black, and this is what I got. Disdain. Hatred. Mistrust. I tried to play nice, and to make you forget that I had a last name. Yes, I was Sirius Orion Black. But I did my best so that Orion wasn't the name of my father anymore, and I did my best so that Black wasn't from the House of Black anymore."

It hurt a bit, Bellatrix thought from high up above the public.

It hurt a bit, to know how far Sirius had wanted to get rid, not of his surname per se, but of what it meant and who it tied him to.

It hurt a bit, that her cousin had been so disgusted with their family, that he had wanted not to be a part of it anymore.

"You denied me that first chance, despite everything I had done, and despite everything that I had never done. I never made use of my abilities to hurt anyone, even if I did never shy away from defending myself and others. I never cursed anyone for the hell of it. I never judged anyone on their blood status. I stopped the worst bullies in Hogwarts at the best of my abilities. I protected many people, wizards and muggles, as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. And the only times I used my knowledge of the Dark Arts, it was to save someone's life, be it because they had been hit with something particularly nasty or because there was no other way than to kill the attacker."

Suddenly, Sirius turned to the Lords' tribune.

"Lord Wenlock, who saved your daughter's life in April 1980?"

But Sirius didn't wait for an answer.

His eyes moved to Lady Slughorn, a witch who looked nothing like her potion teacher of a second cousin; she was a scrawny, wizened woman, with huge grey eyes.

"Who protected Julia and Andrew Slughorn from a Death Eaters attack in September 1979?"

Then he turned to the public tribune, and his eyes searched for a tall and thin wizard he had noticed a little earlier, getting in the courtroom only seconds before the doors had been closed.

"Marcus Wright, where would your family be if I hadn't been there in January 1981, when three masked figures put your house on fire during the night?"

Many people turned to look at Wright, whose only answer was a whisper.

"On fiendfyre, not on fire."

Sirius nodded to te man, who nodded back politely.

Then the young Lord took a deep breath, and relaxed a bit.

When he talked again, his voice was calm, whereas it had been sharp and strained before.

"This is what I did."

He said no more after that.

For a time no one dared to speek.

Some wondered how they could have forgotten about all that. They wondered how, because it had been a Black, because it had been expected of a Black, they could have simply forgotten about all the things that had screamed that it wasn't possible, not Sirius Black! Not the Auror trainee, not the member of the Order of the Phoenix! Not this man...

This man couldn't have been such a traitor.

Of course, they knew they had excuses. Sirius knew that too. He wasn't going to blame them, because they had considered it possible. Back then, everyone was suspect, everybody could betray even their own family. It just happened. Sirius Orion Black could have been playing a role. It had been a possibility.

But it hadn't been, or, given how it had evolved, it shouldn't have been, obvious.

If they hadn't doubted him after what had happened, Sirius would have thought them idiots.

They should have doubted him, but not condemned him on the spot.

Yet it was exactly what they had done.

Lord Rosier raised his hand, and Emilia Croyne allowed him to speak.

"You claim that you did everything to distance yourself from you family because they were everything you didn't want to be; worshipers of blood purity and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named amongst other things. You claim that this distanciation should be proof enough that you don't have the same beliefs."

Lord Rosier was an old man, who had seen his brother and nephew fall, and die, to the call of Voldemort. Now that Voldepants was back, Sirius was under the impression that the wizard was literally fading into despair. His hair seemed more white than before, his complexion paler than even one year sooner, and it happened that people simply didn't notice him, more transparent than even a ghost, and at least not locatable by how cold the air was around him.

It would surprise no one if his daughter soon became Lady Rosier.

Sirius' face went serious under the old wizard's scrutiny, not because it worried him, after all, he had nothing to hide, but out of respect for the man.

"Yet, you are now Lord Black."

Sirius smiled genuinely at the Rosier Lord.

"I was Lord Black even in Azkaban. I became so the day my grandfather died. But I guess that what you mean, Lord Rosier, is that not only I am Lord Black, but I accepted the lordship at last?"

And he raised a hand, for all to see the black and silver ring of the Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, the ring of the duke of Black.

Lord Rosier closed his eyes and slowly nodded.

"You distanced yourself from your family, but now you claim it back."

"I do."

The Rowle Lord had to try hard not to roll his eyes when he saw the triumphant looks on some of the audience's faces. As if by saying that, Black had actually admitted to being a Death Eater or something...

If things were so easy, this trial would have no reason to be. After all, everybody knew that Lord Black had taken his cousins back in the family, and to do that, Sirius Black needed his lordship. So everybody already knew that the young Lord claimed to be part of the House of Black again.

Or they were stupid, not to have realized it sooner. More than probable, truthfully.

Theodore felt it wouldn't have been very polite to snort at Lord Abbot and similar, so he didn't. But he really, really wanted to.

Oh well. It'd have to wait for him to be back home. His wife hadn't been able to come to the trial, but she would be pleased to hear about it.

"Proving everyone that I wasn't like most of my family was obviously a failed attempt, or I wouldn't have been thrown into Azkaban without even a mock trial. I won't try again. But if I can't be anything else than a Black, I can make it so that the House of Black change its reputation."

Andromeda smirked at that, but Narcissa flinched a bit.

"The Blacks are one of the greatest wizarding families this country is home to. We have been here for centuries, and if we take into account the time of the House of Darke, for millenia. We invented many spells and charms, some good, some evil. We took part into many wars, and our blood can be traced in every other House and in many half-blood families."

Many people shifted as they tried to remember if there was a Black somewhere in their family tree, and amongst them, quite a lot shifted again, when they found that yes, they had Black blood, even if for most of them it was only from a distant ancestor.

"I have been disgusted with what being a Black means. But no matter what, to everyone I was still a Black. So I will be a Black, and I will be proud of it."

This, Remus sneered, was Sirius' usual strategy: when your are denied something, do the exact contrary, and do it with panache.

"If I am to be Lord Black, then I will do so that it becomes a title to be proud of. I can't erase the dark past of some of my family members. But I can ensure that there shall be good Blacks with just as much fame."

At that, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

Sirius was truly one to take the bull by the horns when it came to that kind of things. He certainly didn't lack bravery and spirit...

But amongst the heads of House, one wasn't pleased by that speech.

Without even asking for the right to speak, Lady Yaxley looked at the Black Lord with contempt. When her clear voice was heard, it was as sharp as a dagger, and to some, it sounded as deadly.

"To think the high and mighty Sirius Black, proud of his being a Gryffindor, pure-blood yet blood traitor to his family, erased from the Black Family Tapestry by his own mother, would use the worst secret of the Black Family to save his life, drenching himself into the Dark Arts he always loathed and killing his own blood! Whatever you say, Black, you are the same as the rest of your family, only you put on a decent mask."

 

 


	19. The tyranny of the darkest magics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I searched for fics about a trial for Sirius, and I mean, something this is not two lines and then we go on to other things, and I found so few of them that I ended up doing this monster of five chapters. I regret nothing. And by the way, as you can guess, there is still more for the next chapter, but now, I am done with stating the facts, and Sirius defending himself.
> 
> By the way, I could have written this chapter for yesterday, december, end-of-the-year-gift, I really would have had the time, but I found a fanfic, I guess what, I read it. So in the end, I wrote this chapter entirely today, when I usually do it in three days. Shame on me.  
> Let's say it's a new-year-gift.

 

Sirius turned his head slightly to look at the Yaxley Lady.

“Lady Morgan Yaxley... What a pleasure to hear your delicious voice. I'd ask you how your brother is doing, but since I know what Azkaban can do to a man, although not to a guilty one, and since I am a sensible person, I won't. Oh wait. I'm not sensible. How is your brother?”

He didn't bother to hide his sarcasm behind a smile, this time.

After all, everybody knew that Morgan Yaxley shared her Death Eater of a brother's opinions on many things. If she attacked him this way, it wasn't because she believed him to be a liar and a secret follower of Voldepants, but rather because she wasn't ashamed to lie to get the Black Lord out of the Dark Bastard's way.

And maybe because she was angry that Sirius had refused to go out with her back then, during fifth year. And because she didn't like that someone so much like a perfect pure-blood chose to support another cause. And because she might have hoped that by turning all the “good” people against him, Sirius would finally see the light.

But these were mere assumptions.

Lady Yaxley snapped, and no one doubted that Black had struck a chord, and not a pleasant one. This time, Emilia Croyne knew she'd better just leave this trial to end on its own. Luckily it would soon be finished, and Sirius Black would leave this room with no more than one or two new people willing to end his life.

“We're here to talk about your guilt, and certainly not about the previous Lord Yaxley's!”

Sirius gave the witch a condescending smile.

“Actually my lady, we are here to determine whether or not I am guilty of what I am accused. Which means, that we are here to talk about my innocence as much as about my guilt.”

He then turned to the rest of his audience, symbolically at least, since his audience was too large for him to look at them all at the same time. In other words, he looked at the spectators.

“But Lady Yaxley brings up an interesting point, and I thank her for that.”

Morgan Yaxley almost choked on her saliva when the young Lord said those words. He really had a way to make her look like an idiot! And the worst was that he did it in a way that somehow looked good for her, as if she was some innocent girl with no knowledge of the big bad world out there, so she couldn't really say anything unless she admitted she had less than desirable activities during her free time.

So she glared at the Black Lord, who was now completely ignoring her.

“One of the main points of this trial is, after all, 'how in hell can Sirius Black be alive after having fallen behind the Veil of Death?', and, consequently 'what kind of very dark and very evil magic has he used to stay alive?', resulting in 'now do we send him back to Azkaban or not?'. Ain't I right?”

All that, he said it while waving his right hand in the air, forefinger pointed carelessly to the ceiling, and, according to Bellatrix, way too close to where she was hidden. A few people looked up without meaning it, following the lead of this accursed forefinger of her damned cousin. The ghost made sure not to move from above the chandelier, just in case.

Sirius, as for him, had taken to speak the questions as well as the answers.

Not letting anyone any time to say anything, he resumed.

“Of course I am. And the thing is, Lady Yaxley already partially answered these questions. How she knows about my family's 'darkest secret', I know not. But I guess she simply snooped around trying to get her hands on the Blacks' more powerful spells and potions, and ended up finding one or two hints to this secret.”

Said snoop bit her lower lips, furious.

The worst being, that Sirius was right. She had snooped around Narcissa Malfoy's Blacks books each and every time her and her brother had gone to see Lucius. And she had tried to get in Andromeda Tonks' house while the former Black had been working.

Speaking of which, both sisters were surely eye-murdering her right now. The Yaxley Lady wasn't sure, because she didn't dare to check with her own eyes, just in case one of the sisters was secretly Medusa or a basilisk. But she certainly had the feeling they were doing just that.

At least, Bellatrix Lestrange wasn't alive anymore. She would have done more than eye-murder, if she had known that Morgan had scouted Lestrange Manor while its owners had been in jail.

Let's not think about that.

Even if referencing each of Black's insult to her wasn't really to her liking either.

Sirius, of course, ignored the Yaxley Lady as she started to eye-murder him too.

“Before any of you ask, yes, I used the Dark Arts to stay alive, and yes, I did it knowing very well the dangers. No, I won't tell you exactly how the spell works, nor what it is exactly, because it is a family secret, and I don't want hundreds of people to know yet another dark curse that may ruin their humanity if they ever use it, even to defend themselves.”

Benjamin Abbot's face lit up in triumph, and once again, Sirius crushed his hopes before he even got to speak.

“No, Lord Abbot, I'm not saying this because I want to keep it for myself. We all know that the more into the Dark Arts one dwells, the less likely they are to come out unscathed. The Reciprocation curse is one curse that is equal to the Unforgivables in terms of corruption. Besides, it is particularly difficult to cast, and if one fails, they won't have the time to do anything else to save their life. If they don't, they come out changed, and not for the better.”

Abbot's face lit up again, Sirius noted. Predictable. After all, he had just said he had used a curse that would theoretically make him evil. No doubt the Lord would see there just another reason to lock him up again.

But Sirius was growing tired of this trial, no matter how entertaining it was. So he kept on asking questions and giving answers at the same time.

“Now, you are thinking something along the lines of 'so we were right to say you are to be jailed, Black!', with a self-pleased tone to your thoughts, as well as 'I always said the Blacks and the Dark Arts went in pair'. Sorry to disappoint, but there is one thing you forgot about the House of Black.”

Instead of looking pointedly at the Abbot Lord, Sirius turned to look pointedly at the Minister for Magic.

“The House of Black hasn't been named this for no reason. As for when we were called the House of Darke, the members of the family have an affinity with dark magic. It means that we have no difficulty using it, but also that no matter what, the side effects of dark magic on the human mind are unknown to us.”

Many people exchanged glances at that. There were rumors, legends even, but...

“Meaning, no matter what spell we use, no matter how terrible it is, we always escape its grasp. There is no temptation, for a member of the House of Black, resulting from the use of the Dark Arts. The only temptation there might be comes not from dark magic, but from the flaws of personality. Bellatrix fell deep into it, and deeper even, but it wasn't because of the sickly urge of what was once called 'black magic'. It was because of an education and a personality that made her into a hateful blood purist, and a misplaced love that led her to listen to the words of a mad man.”

Up above the chandelier, Bella froze. She had no idea how Sirius had understood.

But he was right.

Misplaced love! As if Voldemort had ever looked at her that way... Yes, misplaced it was, even if love it had been.

“I could murder one of you with a killing curse if I wanted, but unlike all of you, the magic in that act wouldn't change me in the slightest. The act itself is another thing, of course. But the dark magic in it has no right over me, because I am a Black.”

Sirius' tone had changed from light to serious, as he had said those words.

He had known a woman who had killed someone with the killing curse, once, and the witch had grown so disgusted with herself that she had gone and denounced herself on the spot, even if it had been in an act of self-defense. The act of killing had affected her in such a way that she wouldn't have been able to do it again.

But the dark magic in the killing curse had twisted her, and even if her humanity had won the fight for her mind, it had lost the fight for her sanity. The witch had been sentenced to Azkaban, of course, but only for a few years, as she had killed a Death Eater trying to murder her family. The aisle of the prison where she had been jailed was one where the dementors seldom went, and didn't affect one's sanity. They made the prisoners unhappy, but not mad.

Still, when Sirius had seen her, on his way to his own cell, she had been in such a state, so corrupted by dark magic, and yet so unwilling to become evil, that she had been about to break down.

Sirius, being a Black, would have been unaffected. He'd have simply won both battles, for his mind, and his sanity.

Because being a Black meant they weren't subject to the tyranny of the darkest magics.

“That being said, it is obvious that it makes us, Blacks, dangerous. We can do anything we want, because there is nothing that will happen to us as long as we don't get caught, when other people will slowly fall into the darkness if they go just a bit too far. But it also means that when in a tight spot, we don't have to fear the consequences for ourselves, allowing us to use what is effective.”

As he said this, Sirius looked at his two cousins in the family tribune. Their eyes meet, and the three of them acknowledged the truth in the young Lord's words.

Then Sirius looked pointedly at Tonks, who looked defiantly at her Aurors colleagues, as if to say that she could turn them into toads without using anything evil any time.

The young woman winked at him, and Sirius rolled his eyes. But he knew that behind the playful look she gave everyone in the courtroom, there was enough seriousness to take what he had just told for what it was: a warning.

She had the right to defend herself, and no harm would come to her, if she used the Dark Arts to do so. But she shouldn't do it just because she could. There were no consequences, and that meant she had to be careful not to step too far, for nothing would tell her she had.

The point was valid for all of them. Sirius, Andromeda, Narcissa, and Nymphadora.

Because she was the youngest didn't mean she was unaware of the danger.

Once he was sure of her understanding, Sirius looked upwards and sighed.

“That is what I did. Use what was effective.”

The time for Bella to reveal herself was approaching, and he just knew it wouldn't go smoothly.

He couldn't afford to stall too much, but he would do it a bit nonetheless.

“Bellatrix almost succeeded in killing me, when she sent me flying behind the Veil. Almost. It wasn't a killing curse, or any spell that would have brought my death, so as long as I was not behind the Veil, I was alive. Only a few seconds to spare before the final fall. I did the only thing that was effective in allowing me to live, and by doing so, in allowing me to continue fighting, and protect those I care for.”

Everybody in the courtroom saw the Black Lord look at his friends, and at Harry Potter. There was no doubt who he meant by that.

And they could understand that one would make such a choice. It wasn't even about being afraid or unwilling to die. In fact, it was even refusing the quiet slumber that was death, the ending of all worries and pains, for more years of suffering and struggles.

In a way, refusing to die, it was something brave to do, when it wasn't for oneself, but for the others' sake.

“This is all that I will tell you about the Reciprocation curse: it takes the murderer's life, and exchange it for the one that is about to be murdered. Casting it is a matter of instants. It took Bellatrix's life as a payment for my own.”

There was a silence in the courtroom, as Sirius couldn't bring himself to talk just yet, and the public wasn't ready to say anything.

For a Dark Arts curse, it was quite moderate. In fact, many thought that it was difficult to even count it as a spell belonging to the Dark Arts. It was definitely a curse that could be used only in self-defense, and if they hadn't known that when used by someone who wasn't a Black, it tainted their being, they would have thought it something rather good to know.

Sirius looked to the ceiling once again, and sighed once again.

“And now, with the part that you won't like...”

Emilia Croyne looked, surprised, at the audience.

Most weren't really surprised that there was a “part that they wouldn't like”. They were wary, sure, some squinted their eyes, and some even tried to make themselves be forgotten, just in case they were to be the next victim of the Black Lord. They had grown accustomed, somehow, to the fact that there would always be something unpleasant coming from the young Lord.

But this wasn't what irked the temporary Chief Warlock.

The problem was, that amongst those who shouldn't have been disturbed by Black's claim, only Dumbledore wasn't.

Most of the friends and other acquaintances of Sirius Black were looking at him more warily than even the other Lords did. Even Lupin, who hadn't been particularly shocked by the truth behind his best friend's survival, was obviously feeling uncomfortable.

As if he had no actual idea of what the Black Lord implied.

Whatever it was that was coming, Croyne realized, it was something that Sirius Black hadn't told anyone. And if he had done so, it was certainly because he knew that this thing was too much.

Too much, but how so?

Croyne resigned herself to wait and see. After all, it wasn't as if she could do anything to know before the others would.

“I'm immune to the mind effects of the Dark Arts, but it doesn't mean I am immune to their physical effects. Hence the pallor and the shadows under my eyes. But the Reciprocation curse has another after effect that you will certainly not like, for it will remind many of you of dark memories. I can do nothing about that. This after effect will last as long as I live. I want to apologize for it.”

Sirius looked many people in the eyes. Many witches and wizards whose families had been attacked, sometimes killed, by his cousin. Many persons who had suffered from the hands Bellatrix didn't have anymore. And he finished by looking both Narcissa and Andromeda in the eyes, before moving to the Longbottoms.

He was going to reveal something that would be difficult for them to deal with.

He didn't want to.

But could he really keep Bella's ghost a secret for the rest of his life?

He much doubted it to be possible.

“Only the Black Lord knows what exactly the Reciprocation Curse is. And only the Black Lords who have succeeded in casting it can tell what the greatest after effect is, for it has been kept secret each of the three times it happened. It was easier, in their cases, to keep it secret.”

If they had known who exactly Sirius Black had looked in the eyes a moment before, many people would have understood the link between them. But as quite a lot of wizards and witches had come to the trial, it was difficult to be sure. One knew when they were the one to be looked in the eyes. But when it came to know who was the other one, between their two neighbors...

They wouldn't have understood how exactly this link, the victim-of-Bellatrix-Lestrange link, related to the apologies the young Lord had made.

But it being the victim-of-Bellatrix-Lestrange link could only mean that Black was saying the truth, when he said it wasn't going to be pleasant.

“In a way, we could say that the Reciprocation curse inversed the facts. I took Bellatrix's life, and she took my death. We are linked, beyond life and death. And as for the two other Black Lords and the Black Lady who managed to survive their assassination before me, I am now stuck with a ghost of my murderer who is bound to obey my will no matter what.”

Both Andromeda and Narcissa turned ashen.

If this meant what they thought...

But it was Frank who spoke.

Every eye turned to the Longbottom Lord.

“Sirius... Are you implying that... she... is still in this world, under the form of a... ghost?”

“Yes. And she is not only in this world. She is here.”

Sirius' voice was soft, only a whisper.

But his words broke many's composure.

Even the followers of Voldemort's.

“She”.

Her.

There was only one person who could be this “she”. There was only one person who had murdered Sirius Orion Black. There was only one person who could make Frank Longbottom look as if he was going to throw up. There was only one person, besides the accused, who could make the whole courtroom silent by her sole presence.

There was only one ghost who could shake the wizarding world so badly.

Sirius closed his eyes for a time, and turned his face to the ceiling, eyes still closed. This was more dangerous than anything else he had done and said during this trial.

“Bellatrix, come down.”

And he opened his eyes to a descending grey form.

There was an unreal silence in the room as dozens of eyes took in the truth of Bellatrix Black come back amongst the undead.

And as they looked, they saw that she wasn't Bellatrix Lestrange, but truly Bellatrix Black. Younger than they remembered. Less destroyed than they remembered. More sane than they remembered.

But in the end, it was still the same face, still the same witch, still the same past. Some of them had suffered her madness. And even if she looked different in death, even if it was obvious that she wasn't the same as back then, they still couldn't forget how this face had been twisted as they had suffered her curses.

Bella stayed silent with the silence.

She tried to keep her face schooled. This wasn't the time to appear complacent, and if she tried to look sorry, it would not make it more believable.

She knew the danger she was to Sirius. But if he had kept her a secret, and someone still ended up knowing about her, her cousin would get in a worse mess than this one was.

The ghost only hoped it wouldn't come to be too much of a situation. For her sake, as for Sirius'.

The silence wasn't ending.

Sirius knew he couldn't be the one to break it.

He looked at Dumbledore, hoping that the old wizard would take his side on this. After all, he was the one who believed in second chances. And the good point in Bella's second chance, was that she wasn't in any position to harm someone if she weren't to change. After all, she was a ghost. The worst she could do was passing through someone and gossiping about the Order's secrets, which he had forced her to keep quiet about.

From the look Dumbledore gave him, the twinkle in the old man's eye, and the small smile on his lips, Sirius got the impression that the wizard had known all along.

Oh well.

Albus Perceval Wulfric Brian Dumbledore rose from his seat, and spoke.

Nevermind that he was in the silencing-charmed tribune. This was Dumbledore, after all. Such a charm wasn't much to undo for him.

For him, and him alone, as another spectator who tried to speak soon discovered.

“Lord Black, I believe you said this ghost to be tied to your command. Would it be inappropriate to ask the both of you for a proof of your claim?”

Emilia Croyne stared dumbly at the real Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot as he asked her for a confirmation of his question. After all, he wasn't supposed to speak. He had broken the charm, when she was the only one supposed to do so, as she had earlier allowed Marcus Wright to speak.

Still, he was asking her for permission.

She had no idea how he had done that, but she granted it to him, and every eye went back to staring either at the Black Lord, or at the ghost of Bellatrix Black.

“I guess I have to order her to do something she won't like... Because if I don't, you'll all think it was staged... Now, let's think...”

Bella inwardly cursed her cousin and master. If he again made her do a somersault... She'd haunt his dreams. She didn't know how to do that yet, but she'd do it.

A wicked glint appeared in Sirius' eyes, and the ghost felt there were worse things than doing a somersault during a Wizengamot trial.

“Bella, what do you think of singing Scarlet Witch's 'My love for a muggle'?”

As this wasn't an order, the ghost didn't have to yet, and so everyone got to see her face twist into a mask of horror. Not only the song was about something Bellatrix Lestrange abhorred, but the song in itself was... peculiar. Even if the lyrics hadn't been what they were, there was no way in hell she'd ever do that.

“ _Please don't. I'd rather tell every of my victims that I am sorry for what I did. I'd rather go back to be forced to call you 'Oh so good and magnanimous master'. I'd rather finish all my sentences by 'I am sorry I've been a homicidal bitch for years and I shoudn't have killed you the other day'. Just don't. This song has been... Oh, Andromeda, stop laughing madly, I can see you, you know!”_

Andromeda Tonks was actually completely bent into two with laughter at her ghostly sister's predicament. She didn't have any doubt about how the idea of using this particular song had come to Sirius. After all, she had played it in her room for days, even if she herself hadn't liked it at all, during the last months of her seventh year, because everyone in her house had been against her dating a muggle-born.

Apparently, Narcissa hadn't forgotten either, because she was throwing a dirty look at both her laughing sister and her cousin. Her room had been right next to Andromeda's.

Actually, Andromeda's room had been right between her two sisters', one being older and the other one being younger. They had suffered the most in the household.

Bella turned back to Sirius, a pleading look on her face. It shocked many people, for it wasn't a look they were used to see on her face.

Theodore Rowle would swear, later on, that it had traumatized two of his fellow Lords. No doubt that those two had Voldepants-related activities, Sirius would add afterwards.

Bellatrix pointed accusingly at her sister.

“ _Andromeda made us listen again and again to this accursed song for four months, and she had even made it into a jinxed music box that tried to eat you alive if you got too close in an attempt to make it stop. I hate this song even more than I hate muggles. Even her didn't like it, but she knew Mother and Father would let her date that --, sorry, muggle-born if she stopped it. You hate this song, Sirius! Scarlet Witch can't even sing properly, and I know you gave up using it like Andromeda to piss off you parents because you couldn't bear it. Don't make me do that. You'll make everyone in this room suffer if you do. Please, don't.”_

Those who knew the song couldn't say she was wrong. It was purely horrid.

“Sing it, Bellatrix.”

Bella would have liked to tell him he had no heart, but suddenly she was busy singing the dratted thing. Not only she couldn't bear the lyrics, no matter that she had slightly changed her opinion on muggles and other worms, it was still too much for her, but the music itself made her want to vomit.

She wasn't the only one in the courtroom to feel that way. Even Arthur Weasley looked about to throw up, despite the fact that the lyrics could be related to his passion for every muggle thing in the world.

When she finished the song, though, she made sure to tell Sirius how she would make his life hell from now on.

Andromeda was too busy laughing to regret not being able to tease her older sister's ghost.

“And so what? It's just a song! You could have staged that, even if Lestrange didn't like it!”

All eyes went to Benjamin Abbot, who was really beginning to be a pain in the ass.

Those who had known Bellatrix during her lifetime knew she would never have agreed to that, and they were all looking at the Abbot Lord as if he had grown a second head.

Sirius didn't even look at Abbot.

“Bellatrix, somersault.”

She did just that, while sending him murderous glances when he entered her visual field.

“Spin. Bow. Jump. Fly. Down. Left. Rotate.”

Sirius' voice was hard, and his tone was sharp. The orders went on and on, and so quickly, one after another, that if she hadn't been forced by the curse to obey, Bella would have lost track. Anyone could see that. When Sirius finally stopped, the ghost wasn't even in a state to murderously glare at him.

The Black Lord then looked at the Abbot Lord.

His smile was twisted, full of rage.

Maybe it was just that he couldn't bear anymore with not being believed.

“Do you want me to order her to confess a love she doesn't feel for you, or will that suffice?”

The ghost glared at the one who had cost her all these acrobatics. He'd better keep it at that, or it was his dreams that she'd haunt in the near future. As soon as she'd find out how to do that. And with Sirius' permission, of course. Somehow, she doubted he'd say no to that, if the half-blood Lord continued being such a pain in the ass.

Benjamin Abbot got the message, and didn't ask for anything more.

Of course, it didn't mean the public suddenly believed she had become a harmless sheep, when she had been a dangerous wolf. But they seemed convinced enough, that Sirius had her under his control.

The young Lord turned to the officials behind the temporary Chief Warlock. His eyes locked with Scrimgeour's.

“If you wish, Minister, I can order her to give you all the details she knows about her fellow Death Eaters. Any time. Then again, you can't know. Maybe I ordered her to lie, after all, I am a traitorous bastard. I'll understand if you don't want to believe anything coming from her, and so, coming from me. But maybe you could at least listen, if you don't believe.”

Scrimgeour nodded his acceptance.

He couldn't say no to that offer, after all. If ever Black was being honest...

And more than that, he himself had started doubting his own conviction of the man's guilt. He had heard too much, during the last hours, for it to be all an act. Maybe he had been wrong... Maybe he should ask for the young Lord's pardon, later on, when no one would be there to witness it.

Bellatrix caught the eye of one or two Death Eaters she would certainly denounce tomorrow, or maybe the day after that. She saw fear in their eyes. She didn't care.

She had changed, after all. Not so much that she could be called a good witch, but enough for her not to be a villain anymore.

And those people had been there with her, always pushing her to be worse, as she had always pushed them the same way. With them, she hadn't had a chance to see how wrong she had been. She had been their blind, and they had been hers. They deserved it.

It wouldn't surprise her, if before night, some of them had fled the country.

The temporary Chief Warlock was about to speak, when Bella finally found the courage to do what she had decided to do the day before. She knew it wouldn't be welcomed by many, and it wouldn't change anything to the past, but she couldn't not do it and hope for her ghost-life to be accepted. Not before decades, at least.

“ _Excuse me, but I... I would like to speak.”_

Emilia Croyne blinked, and allowed the ghost to do whatever she wanted. After all, if it went too far, the Black Lord would surely make her shut up.

Speaking of which, Black too was squinting at her ghost of a cousin, and many noticed it. Apparently, Bellatrix's intervention hadn't been talked about, and he was as surprised as the others, for once.

Sirius readied himself to cut Bella off if she started to say things he didn't like.

He had absolutely no idea of what she was planning, and had no pillow to throw at her. Definitely a terrible situation, if the sorry look she sent him was anything to go by. He really wished for a pillow, right now.

The ghost's voice rose, and soon the courtroom was filled with names. Many names. Names that most knew, for they had been the names of people who had suffered at the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange. Some were even in this room. The most notable were, of course, those of Alice and Frank Longbottom.

Both were livid, but silent. They had decided that they would let her say what she had to say, if only out of respect for Sirius. They weren't stupid, after all. For him too, it had to be hard. Especially considering that he was stuck with the ghost, not only of his killer, but of a perfect representative of the House of Black that he didn't want to be a part of.

It wasn't because the Black Lord said nothing, that he felt nothing.

Sirius tensed visibly, before relaxing.

“ _I am sorry for all I did. I can't say I now believe we are all equal in and without magic. I don't want to lie to you, and you wouldn't believe me if I did. But I now know that, if anything, we all deserve to live, no matter where we stand on my personal scale of value. I was a monster in life. But I will try to be someone, if not good, at least middling, in death.”_

There was a silence, but this was an one angry, everybody could tell just by listening. Wasn't it strange, that they could tell the silence to be angry? Nonetheless, they could...

Before it became too much, Croyne thought she'd better take the lead back to go on another subject.

Bellatrix's ghost used the diversion to fly up to the ceiling, without hiding this time.

“This leave one accusation, one of your own, moreover.”

Sirius acknowledged the temporary Chief Warlock with a sharp nod before answering.

“Yes. Seven uses of the Dark Arts on human beings. To be precise, twelve spells.The first time, I... I was seven. We had gone to the sea for summer. Bellatrix was keeping Regulus' head under water just until it was too late. She did it several times, and when I went to Mother, she dismissed me. She wouldn't listen to me. I was so angry I did some accidental magic. Dark magic.”

Right, Bella thought, that was the first time... And to think she had taunted Sirius with that during the Battle at the Department of Mysteries... If she had been in her right mind back then, she would have known it wasn't a good idea. Maybe that was what had made her cousin angry enough to use the Reciprocation curse. If she hadn't taunted him that way, she might have still been alive.

Then again, she would have been as crazed as before. It was strange, but the ghost almost didn't regret what she had done.

“My mother's throat ripped open, slowly, in four lines. Father came just in time to stop it and save her life. It was the Ghost Claws curse.”

And after that, even if she had been injured, Walburga had been so proud of her son, and of the ease he had with the Dark Arts, that he hadn't been punished. Once, Sirius had told Andromeda that it had been then, that he had clearly understood there was something wrong with his family...

“The second time, I was in seventh year. This is one of my worst memories. I was going back to the Gryffindor tower after a detention with McGonagall. It was late, and everyone was in the dorms, except me and the prefects. I met Jane Marlow on the way back.”

Everyone looked to the witch, who sat, wide-eyed, amongst the spectators.

Sirius had known that she would come. After all, she had become a famous defender of the muggle-borns during the first war, and had worked hard during the peace to protect those who had been misjuged.

But he couldn't do otherwise. He had to say it.

Still, to many, Jane Marlow included, it was strange. Mostly because Marlow had no memory of the incident Black was talking about, and so had never spoken of it to anyone.

“It shouldn't have happened, but... Her father had been killed by Bellatrix the week before. My mother had once again threatened the Potters two days before, about them turning me against my kind. We were both on edge, and she started to insult me. I tried to walk away, but... She cursed me in her anger. And she said something, about how I was no better than the other pure-bloods, than Bellatrix. She went on and on. I snapped. I used the Breathless hex on her, until she passed out.”

Jane Marlow was holding her throat, remembering how the nurse had found her in the infirmary later that night, and how no one had ever known what had happened, until now.

The witch was also remembering how she had always been afraid of Sirius Black, without really knowing why. It had started that week.

“I stopped just before it was too late, to say the truth, when I realized what I was doing. Panicked, I did everything I could remember to negate the effects, but even so, she wouldn't wake up. So, I did what I could. I erased the last minutes from her memory, just letting the fear of me she had just gained, so that she wouldn't try it again. Finally, I got her to the Hospital Wing, and I left before anyone could see me. I didn't sleep for the whole week, after that.”

Sirius took a deep breath, eyes closed, but eventually he found the strength to look at Jane Marlow.

“I want to apologize for that. It is one of the rare things I did I am actually ashamed of.”

The witch wouldn't let him look away, and he felt he shouldn't. He truly was the guilty one, here. She had every right to make him pay, if only by forcing him to look her into the eyes for so long.

She was his mistake, his sin.

Slowly, Marlow rose from her seat, asking for the Chief Warlock's permission to speak. She held Black's gaze as she was allowed to talk.

“I think I should be angry, but I am not. From what you say, I wasn't innocent either. Today, I am well known as an advocate who pushes her adversaries until they break. I believe I did just that with you, when you weren't even an adult. I also think you could have withstood it. After all, you are more accomplished than I will ever be at this game. But if I started cursing you at the same time... I hold no grudge. Even more so, that I believe I have become who I am today because of what has happened. Before my... attack, I cared not about defending those who suffered. Even for erasing my memory, I won't hold a grudge. You did it to protect yourself, and it protected me too, in a way. I forgot I could be bad to the point of attacking an innocent because of their name. And since I never knew who had done this to me... I couldn't seek retribution for myself, so I did it for others.”

Many in the public blinked at the witch's forgiveness, and Sirius did just the same.

But she sat down, as if to mean that nothing more would be said on the matter, or else.

Still, Lady Yaxley took the opportunity to steal the floor before the Black Lord could resume his list of misdeeds.

“This was very emotional, Miss Marlow, but now, what I want to know is if the Black Lord ever went further than what he did to you. After all, he confessed to having killed his cousin Bellatrix Lestrange, even if in self-defense. Yet, Black, you haven't yet told us if you ever killed someone before that. Maybe you don't mean to do bad, but if you can't control yourself, with your extraordinary ease with the Dark Arts... And you admitted to having tracked down Pettigrew in order to kill him. You definitely have issues with your self-control.”

Because if Morgan Yaxley couldn't get the obnoxious Black in jail, she would at least incapacitate him by having him watched over by St. Mungo's.

And possibly the Ministry too. The Ministry was useless, maybe she could make it useful.

Sirius rolled his eyes at this umpteenth attack. Between Abbot and Yaxley, this was becoming a race of some sort, he thought, and he didn't like it at all.

In fact, he was becoming so pissed with the whole thing that his words were almost dripping acid.

“Try and live twelve years in Askaban while knowing you are innocent and the culprit is still out there. Then you'll have every right to condemn me. But for now, you'd better stay silent instead of thinking you're the only one in the world with the right to judge others.”

The last part was more accurate when spoken to Benjamin Abbot, but it would do well enough, and if the Abbot Lord wasn't a complete idiot, he'd get it just the same.

“Then again, to answer your question, Lady Yaxley, do you really think that Anyan Carrow, Amanda Flint, Edward Undercliff, Letto Bulstrode, Julius Travers, and Mary and Donald Stump died out of their own will back in 1980? There is a report of that incident in my file as an Auror in training. I arrived on the scene as they were about to murder three children, after having tortured and killed their parents before their eyes. My partner was late. I did what I could. It ended up with me blasting three Death Eaters' heads, using two Breathless hexes, and killing the twins with a double Ghost Claws curse.”

There it was. Cases number three, four and five of an use of the Dark Arts on humans.

“Killing Bellatrix and rescuing my own life was the sixth time. Which leave me with the Unforgivable, used twice, on two people, to take their mind back from Vegetableland. I did it while I was in St. Mungo's the other week. The Imperius has one good use, it seems.”

Some pair of eyes widened as they linked the date with a miracle that had happened not long before.

“Exactly. Frank, Alice, could you please smile for the photograph? Great. Now, I think we said all that mattered. What about moving on to my judment?”

 

 


	20. What civilized people do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late. I'm sorry. I was just stuck. It was hard remembering how to write a chapter where not all Sirius was doing was verbally destroying people.

Emilia Croyne cleared her throat, about to ask for the judges' decision.

A hand rose amongst the Lords.

The temporary Chief Warlock frowned.

“Yes, Lord Macmillan?”

The small and frail wizard blushed as everyone looked at him, and downright shivered when Black's eyes moved to him, obviously exasperated with the fact that his sentence was once again pushed back. He was seemingly fed up with answering questions when the ones who asked them refused to even consider he might be saying the truth.

“Err... I don't mean to be a nuisance, but this trial has been going for quite some time already. I, and I believe I am not the only one in this situation, am a bit hungry. Maybe we should take a break, and resume the judgement in one hour or so?”

Several people blinked, unable to comprehend that the call of the stomach was weighing this much in such a serious trial. Or maybe they were realizing they were hungry too.

Under the disturbing gazes of the audience, the small Lord quickly added another reason to his request. Curiously, Sirius noticed that he was glancing at him nervously from time to time.

“Of course, it is not that I wish to postpone your sentence, Lord Black, whether it will be one of guilt or one of innocence. Only, many things have been told, and I believe we all need some time to think. And... personally, I think better when I'm not hungry.”

To everyone's surprise, and the Macmillan Lord wasn't the least surprised, Sirius barked a laugh at the proposition. Wiping a tear from the corner of his right eye, he reached for his two pocket watches, the Blacks' and the Potters'. It caused some people to raise an eyebrow.

“Lord Macmillan is right, Chief Warlock Croyne. It is almost midday. It might be sensible to let the judges calm down, without me next to them to freak the hell out of them whispering the exact things they don't like to hear.”

And he looked expectantly at Emilia Croyne.

The witch looked around, unsure of what to do. What she saw were many people looking at their own watches, and she sighed. Apparently, talking about eating had awakened their appetite.

“Alright. The Wizengamot may retire. I expect everyone to be back here in three quarters of an hour, because this trial will resume, whether you are here or not.”

She looked sternly at the Black Lord.

“Lord Black, you are not allowed to go beyond the back room where you waited for the trial to start. You are still under procedure.”

Black gave her a perfectly innocent look, and Croyne had to refrain an urge to wince. This man was definitely a danger to the female wizarding population, if he could act like that after having scared everyone in the room just enough for them not to pee in their robes.

“Do I get to share my lunch with my friends and family?”

Emilia Croyne glanced at the said friends and family members, and sighed. The look they were giving her wasn't really one that let her any choice, was it?

She nodded.

“Two Aurors will be keeping an eye on you, though.”

Just in case some of the people the young Lord had borderline insulted or humiliated during the trial were to try anything. Though the temporary Chief Warlock doubted they would be able to do much against Sirius Black, even without his wand. If he felt threatened, the wizard could just transform and rip his attacker's throat with his grim teeth. In such a small room as was the back room, it would be stupid to attack an animagus as dangerous as a grim.

Black shrugged his agreement.

“Dawlish, Moody, you stay here. Fulch will bring you something to eat.”

The courtroom started to empty. Soon, Sirius, Remus, Harry, Hermione, the Tonks, the Longbottoms and the Weasley were the only ones left, with the two Aurors.

Sirius and Dawlish had just started a glaring contest. Julius Moody was almost gawking at Dumbledore, who had lingered behind too. The young Auror hadn't been one to be sent to the headmaster's office for misbehavior, so even if he had seen the old wizard on an almost daily basis for seven years, he wasn't very familiar with him.

Just before Sirius went to open the door to the back room, Dumbledore called him out.

“One word, if you please, Sirius.”

The young Lord made a vague gesture for the others to enter the back room, and walked to the old wizard. Dawlish remained at the door, scowling at the Black Lord, who compensated his anger by imagining the irritating Auror painted in blue with pink flowers all over his face.

Dumbledore sat back onto a seat, asking for Sirius to do just as much.

“We will need to speak, after your acquittement.”

Sirius arched a polite eyebrow at the old man, a smirk coming into existence on his lips.

“You seem pretty sure that I will walk free.”

“Do you doubt you will?”

The arched eyebrow rose even higher.

Dumbledore simply smiled.

“I had thought as much. That was quite a show you made just then. Daring, if I say so. Especially the part with Bellatrix.”

Sirius shrugged, unwilling to show how worried he had been, and still was, about this part of his plan.

“I can't possibly keep her a secret forever. Besides, you didn't seem very surprised, headmaster.”

“Alastor saw her when he went to visit you in St. Mungo's. You were asleep, after your magic trick with the Longbottoms.”

Ah. That explained a lot. Bloody magic eye.

He'd have to ask the retired Auror what he saw when he looked at him with it, Sirius mused. He knew his body wasn't exactly human anymore... More like, his new body wasn't exactly human to begin with... And he'd rather have as much data as possible about his condition, just in case it turned badly one day or another.

“Then I'm surprised she is still free to hover around as she please. Though it's not exactly the case, somersault and everything, you know what I mean, but yet. Shouldn't Moody have reported her?”

Even if Sirius wasn't looking at the old wizard, he could tell that Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling.

“I asked him not to. And apparently, her new sanity awoke something in her, that made him almost... Ah, trust is never the right word with Alastor... Let's just say he doesn't distrust her as much as he would have before.”

Well, this was surprising.

“Moody almost trusting of Bellatrix? I thought this all couldn't get any more ridiculous than me having my murderer haunting me, but apparently I was wrong.”

The old wizard laughed softly. Ridiculous wasn't the word he'd have chosen to describe the situation. But he could understand the irony.

“What do you intend to do once you'll be free?”

Sirius glanced suspisciously at the old wizard.

“Do I get to take Harry in? Black Manor isn't exactly the safest place, but it is definitely safe enough when it comes to attacks from the outside. And there, there are no Dursleys. That has to count for something, in my humble opinion.”

Dumbledore kept silent for half a minute.

“As you are aware, the blood wards over Lily's family are the most efficient wards that exists. Even if he doesn't like it, the Dursleys' house has to be a 'home' to Harry. I'd feel better if you had him spend at least one week each month there. The three other weeks... Well, I guess Harry could be visiting you at Black Manor, or the Weasleys at the Burrow. I don't believe he would say no.”

A wide smile made his way onto Sirius' face, but he made it disappear quickly. He wasn't free yet.

“Right, I'll still have to share him with his friends... A pity, that.”

“The only thing I'm asking of you, Sirius, even if I have no right to ask, is that if anything happens, you send him back to Privet Drive, at least for the duration of the attack.”

The young lord grunted something of a positive answer. It might not please him, but Harry's safety was more important than his happiness. There would be no happiness if the boy was killed.

He stood up.

“If I am indeed a free man by the end of this trial, I'd be more than happy to meet you at Grimmauld in the next days.”

Dumbledore only smiled.

When Sirius passed by Dawlish, who closed the door to the back room behind him, the annoying Auror growled.

“You won't be a free man ever again, Black.”

The young Lord stopped in his tracks, turned to the Auror, and glared at him. Then, he walked away, to the ones who were waiting for him in the back room. It was a bit crowded, but well...

Most of the people who had stayed behind to be with him were looking at something on the floor. Sirius walked to them, curious, and found them waiting eagerly next to the Weasley Lord.

Arthur Weasley had come to the trial as a Lord, and he had stayed as Ron's father. He wasn't exactly a friend of Sirius yet, but they got along with each other pretty well. As for now, the wizard was battling against a wicker picnic basket that stubbornly refused to let go of a pumpkin pie made by his wife.

Arthur looked up at Sirius, smiling apologetically.

“Molly figured this might turn out like this, and so she made enough food to feed a regiment. Unfortunately, I don't think even the expansion charm on the basket could take it all, and I just...”

As he said that, he gave one last thrust at the pie. Sirius and Remus noticed the shadows of a smile on the lips of both Fred and George, who were standing not too close to their father, though under the watchful eye of their mother.

The two Marauders shared a glance, took a step back, Sirius dragged Ron and Harry with him, Remus took care of Hermione and Neville.

The basket almost exploded.

Tonks, Frank and Charlie, who had been the nearest to the wicker basket, as well as Arthur himself, were sent to the floor. Moody Jr. started, blinked, and cursed as he saw Dawlish take out his wand and pointing it at the Back Lord, as if it was his fault. Alice, who had seen her fellow Aurors react, handled Dawlish by desarming him quickly. The man had been grating on her nerves for too long.

Molly Weasley slowly walked to her twin sons, who looked like innocent angels, but were definitely neither innocent nor angels. Seeing that their acting wasn't changing her mind, the twins decided that they'd better take cover behind Bill, who was still trying to process what had just happened.

A smile tugged at Andromeda's upper lip, and when Sirius noticed that, he burst out laughing.

After a dozen of seconds, the young Lord was simply smiling. He hadn't laughed like that since... Well, since he had died. Even mocking Bellatrix wasn't this good.

Sirius went to Arthur, and helped him to gather the dishes, that fortunately hadn't been damaged by the fate of their container, but were now scattered on the floor. Arthur was right, there was enough for a regiment.

The rare hairs on the head of the wizard had turned an odd brown with the explosion, but the Weasley Lord was definitely stiffling a laugh of his own.

“Well, I think this basket was a bit old anyway.”

They started eating happily enough, speaking of this and that, and nothing and everything. Molly Weasley would glare at her twin sons from hell from time to time, Ron, Hermione and Harry would speak with Sirius and Remus, while Neville would send nervous glances to Andromeda who looked too much like her sister for him to feel safe, but as his parents were happily chatting with her... The point was, Sirius was desperately avoiding the stares of Frank, Alice and Andromeda, who were talking about exactly who he thought they'd be talking about.

After ten minutes, Frank couldn't wait anymore. He coughed purposely, with a pointed glance at his dark haired, pale skinned friend.

Sirius, still looking elsewhere, handed him a tissue.

The Auror rolled his eyes, though the Blak Lord couldn't see it.

“Sirius.”

“Yes, Frank?”

“Look at me.”

Sirius obliged, his face carefully neutral.

Frank, on the other hand, was looking grave. There was no question as to what he wanted to discuss. It surely pertained to one ghost that had deemed it better to just stay up there, in the courtroom, rather than joining her sister, cousin, and niece.

“Frankly, Sirius, I hope you're taking all this seriously.”

“I don't see how else it could be, Frank.”

Not everyone understood why, but Remus nudged his friend in the stomach at that. Sirius may have hated the puns on his name, but it seemed that the double pun this time had left him willing to make use of it. It wasn't the time to joke around.

Of course, the young Lord knew that very well.

He just didn't want to speak of it, and so had used whatever had come to his mind to delay the conversation.

There was a deep silence, as everyone in the room waited for what was to come. No one was certain of what would unfold, for they were themselves quite disturbed by the gosthly news they had learned during the trial. If them, who had not been directly affected by Bellatrix Lestrange's misdeeds, didn't know what to think of it, what would the Longbottom couple think of it?

It wasn't as if Sirius could do anything about the fact that he was haunted by Bella. He had told so during the trial, and sinemendatium or not, they believed him to be thruthful about that. He wouldn't have kept her around, if she hadn't ceased to be dangerous, and if he had had a choice.

It's true that Sirius could have chosen to keep her around to make others unconfortable, because, well, the more uncomfortable they were, the easier it was for him to manipulate them. It's true that Sirius was somewhat cruel, from time to time. But he wasn't ever needlessly so. Keeping Bella's ghost around would be a well deserved punishment for some, but it would also be cruel to others who had lost much because of her, and yet had done nothing to Sirius. He wasn't this cruel.

If he had had a choice, the young Lord wouldn't have let the Longbottoms see the ghost.

He had had no such choice, all of them understood that.

Even Alice and Frank.

But because one understood the necessity of some things, it didn't mean they weren't suffering because of this necessity.

Sirius sighed in defeat.

“Come and say it.”

He hadn't really looked at his friends' faces since the last pun.

If he had, he'd have noticed that their mask was more of concern than of anger.

It was Alice that asked the question.

“How are you feeling, Sirius?”

Astonished, the Black Lord only blinked at his friend. Why was she asking that, when it was her own wellfare that was in question, as well as her husband's?

Alice understood that. She was a woman who understood many things, after all.

“It is not easy for us to accept that she is still here, as you can guess. But, we're not the ones who are the most concerned by her return from the afterlife. Andromeda is having troubles, too. After your... jailing, it took some time for Bellatrix to come after us. Before that, she went to torment her sister, as she had done many times during the war. And still, the three of us agree, Sirius, that you are the one who is in the most danger because of this ghost.”

Ted, who was tending to his daughter, tensed a bit. He knew very well what had happened, back then. It hadn't been easy, each time Death Eaters had come after them. After him.

And still, each time, his wife had sent him and Nymphadora away, with or without his consent, while she had confronted the attackers. Though a blood traitor, Andromeda was a pure-blood. She risked less than they did. And she was a Black. She knew how to defend herself, even if she couldn't always fell her opponents.

All that, because they had come after him, and their daughter. Not after her.

How many times had he felt as if it was his fault? He endangered even his own daughter, because he was a muggle-born, and she would have been a pure-blood, or at least a “better” half-blood, if not for him. Of course, Nymphadora wouldn't have been his Dora. Not exactly. With another father, she would have been different. It wouldn't have been his Dora that would have been safe.

Ted had often consoled himself like that. He did with what he had.

Just as Sirius did with what he had.

Everyone knew it. They knew he had stopped truly complaining years ago. He never complained about what he couldn't change, if about anything.

And he couldn't change Bella's presence.

“She killed you, Sirius. And you killed her. How many times have you fought, not only in words and beliefs, but also in battle? You were too clever, and too dangerous, for her to wound you much, but she has wounded you nonetheless. And now, you are stuck with her.”

It hadn't been long since Alice and Frank had woken up, and seeing them this grave so soon was aggravating for the others. Both had deserved some calm, and some rest.

But the war was here. They would take, all of them, what they could, when it came to be happy. But they wouldn't back away from being grave when needed. If they did, they might die of it.

Sirius lived too much by this rule.

“What can I do about it, Alice? She's here, I'm here. That's all there is to it. There is absolutely nothing I can do to change that. At least, she's not as... detestable as before.”

The young Lord shrugged, before turning to his cousin.

“Andromeda, I fear you will have to speak with her at some point. She's your sister, and, well... It could be good if we managed to make her an asset, and not only a defused threat.”

The look Andromeda gave him was hardly a convinced one.

“We're talking about Bellatrix there.”

No need to say more, she wouldn't even try to believe that it was possible to change her sister's ghost anymore than it had already happened.

Sirius sighed, but he still had an ace up his sleeve.

“On top of that, I think she's worried about Narcissa.”

Andromeda's face gave no hints that she had changed her mind, but the witch stood up, and moved to leave the back room. Towards the courtroom, and not towards the corridor.

What happened next was that they all finished eating while chatting a bit about this and that, as before. Only, the mood in the room had a bit dampened. The Weasley twins managed to coax Remus into sharing some of the Marauders' stories and memorous pranks, though they never managed to get him to tell his secrets. From the glint in Molly's eyes, it was for the better. Sirius more or less let it slip that there was more than enough place at Black Manor to hold a quidditch competition one of those days, you know, if Harry wasn't against spending part of the coming holiday with him, that is, ah, how to say it, in an undursleyish place. Needless to say that the teenager was more than happy to say he wouldn't mind in the least.

Finally, the time for the judgment came.

Frank and Arthur went to the Lords' tribunes talking of the latest regulations that the Auror ignored due to some... health circumstances. Ted and Tonks joined their wife and mother next to Narcissa, who was purposely avoiding her sister's glare. The others joined the rest of the public, Ron and the twins making sure that their mother didn't catch sight of Percy, who was still so ashamed of his errors that he hadn't stopped avoiding everyone in his family.

Sirius was the last one to leave the back room, after an intense glaring contest with Dawlish.

As he walked back into the courtroom, he learned that he wasn't the only one who could act as he wanted, but also at the right moment, to manipulate people into trusting him.

He had not made two steps into the room that Harry turned back on his heels, closed the distance between them, and hugged his godfather before more than half of the judges. Dawlish, as unpleasant as ever, went to separate them, but surprisingly he tripped on his way and crashed on the floor. The fact that Julius Moody's foot had been just before his own feets was obviously to be considered as irrelevant, of course.

Sirius decided it might be good to let his surprise show, though not for too long, or else some people would argue it had been staged.

“Hum, Harry, would you let me go?”

The teenager waited ten seconds, looking around discreetly. Once he was sure that most of the audience had seen how much he cared for Sirius, he loosened the hug a bit.

“'Just so that you don't get sent back to Azkaban. You were particularly convincing, this morning, but I'm afraid you terrified a bit too many people...”

Sirius smirked, unabashed, at the whispered words.

“Did I, now?”

Harry let go of him, took a step back, arched an eyebrow at his godfather, and almost ran back to his friends.

He certainly wasn't fooled by Sirius' half-hearted attempt to make it seem like he hadn't realized what he had done. After all, if the man had wanted to make him think so, he would have done a way better job at erasing his smirk.

As he sat down next to Ron, Hermione made a face of questioning. Harry tried to answer her silent inquiry, but no sound left his mouth. He silently groaned, remembering the silencing charm over the public's tribunes. Oh well, it'd have to wait.

Sirius walked to the seat of the accused, careful not to look too smug, though still confident.

Emilia Croyne called for everyone's attention.

She said once again the charges and the crimes of the accused, and reminded the judges of the twelve years of jail the Black Lord had already suffered, as well as of the lack of trial that had lead to that imprisonment. She finished with the terms of Sirius Black's deal with the Ministry.

“Now, I will ask for each of the judges' decision towards the accused. Be it known that anyone who would vote under the influence of someone else, by threat or by bribe, would be held responsible for the unfairness of the sentence. Be it known that all judges in this court are aware of the weight of their decision on one man's life. Be it known, that this courtroom is no place for petty revenges or votes made lightly.”

When the temporary Chief Warlock spoke of “petty revenge”, Sirius deliberately seeked the eyes of the Yaxley Lady. Morgan Yaxley, of course, steadily and stubbornly refused to meet his glance, focusing of Croyne instead.

“May all who are for to the clearing of the accused of charges raise their hand.”

Arthur Weasley, Frank Longbottom and Theodore Rowle were the first ones to do so. Seeing that even the victim of Bellatrix Lestrange had voted in favor of the accused, some other Lords and Ladies followed. Five of the seven representatives of the people did so too, as did Scrimgeour's Advisor and his Junior Assistant, namely, Percy Weasley. Finally, Lady Ollivander raised her hand too, after having thought about it a bit more.

Emilia Croyne mentally counted the number of people for the acquittal.

“May all those who wish to submit a blank vote raise their hand.”

Six heads of House acted so, amongst which were the Abbot and the Shafiq Lords. One of the representatives of the people voted blank as well, as did, to the surprise of many, Scrimgeour himself.

“May all those who are opposed to the clearing of the charges raise their hand.”

Sirius wasn't surprised to see Morgan Yaxley and Lord Goyle amongst those. Most had links to the Death Eaters, but there were also one or two heads who had simply never wanted to even give him a chance. Not a problem, he had guessed it would be so. The last representatives of the people and of the Ministry, that is, the Senior Undersecretary, voted so too.

Croyne watched all the judges for a time, before she gave them one last chance to correct their vote. No one changed their choice. It rarely happened, in fact, for no judge would want anyone to think them irresolute.

The temporary Chief Warlock then turned to Sirius.

“Sirius Orion Black, you are therefore, with eight blank votes, thirteen opposed votes, and twenty-two votes for, cleared of all charges.”

The Black Lord smiled genuinely at Croyne and at most of the audience, acknowledged with a nod those who had voted blank, and smirked at those who had wanted him to rot in Azkaban once again.

Emilia Croyne could hardly keep her smile to herself, and she ended up smirking too. She really had to watch herself; this wizard was dangerous to her composure.

“Stand up, Lord Black. You are, now and again, a free man.”

So Sirius did as he was told, but he bowed at the temporary Chief Warlock... before ducking what would have otherwise been an armful of cousin and godson, namely Tonks and Harry.

A shower of light reminded the young Lord that there was an hungry army of journalists waiting for him, and for a moment he was tempted to run away by the back room. He took a deep breath, fixed a smile on his face, and turned to the front door of the courtroom, behind which he was certain to be assaulted by the journalists who were still kept at bay... even if the photographers were not.

“Harry, I'm afraid I have a dangerous ordeal to affront right now... Maybe you'd better go back to the Dursleys right away. I have some things to deal with before I can take you in.”

After all, being declared free and all meant he had to deal with a lot of paperwork that he hadn't been able to attend to for fifteen years. It included his formal responsibility for his godson. And the teenager still had to take back his belongings from the Dursleys'.

At that, Harry grinned heartfully.

“No can do, Sirius. Dumbledore allowed me to stay with you for the day, as long as I actually stay with you. If we were to be separated, he'd take me back to the Dursleys, and I certainly don't want to go right away.”

Someone mumbled a “lucky bastard” behind the two, and Ron suddenly got smacked by both Hermione and his mother for his language.

Sirius smirked. He looked at Dumbledore, who, though he was several feet away, smiled knowingly. This old wizard surely thought of everything.

“Alright, folks. I'm sorry that you have to leave, Ron, Hermione, and everyone else, but I guess we'll see each other often enough... On the other hand, Andromeda, Ted, Dora and, obviously, Remus, you are definitely coming with me and Harry to the Manor. I want a family dinner, after all that, and you are what's left of my family... Of my families.”

Tonks looked overjoyed, but Remus seemed about to protest, for Merlin knew what reason.

“No, Moony, you're coming. If you don't, I'll call Dora by her full first name for one month.”

The pink haired metamorphmagus hissed at her mother's cousin in anger, and for a time Sirius was tempted to joke that she, in fact, should have been in Slytherin. But, after his performance of the day, he felt he'd better keep quiet.

Remus wasn't sure as to why exactly it was Tonks who was threatened to make him come, nor why he accepted the threat, but he relented.

After that, Sirius bid farewell to all the others, delaying as much as he could the time before he'd have to pass the door, to step into the ring of journalists. Maybe if he waited long enough, some would be discouraged, and would leave?

As if.

Journalists were like wolves. They could wait under the tree where you hid for you to fall asleep and then literally fall down, to get their meal. They wouldn't leave before they'd have feasted on your carcass.

As if to give him one last chance at delaying, Sirius saw that the two Rowles were still in the courtroom, talking with an aged witch. He hesitated for a second, but eventually made his way towards them.

His greetings and thanks to the Rowle Lord were honest, and well-met.

When he turned to the Lord's niece, however, it was with a twinge in his chest. He wasn't sure what it was about, so he simply acted with his perfect countenance, once again.

“Miss Rowle, I am pleased to see you once again. I was wondering if, one of these days, you'd come and visit me at Black Manor. I hear we have much in common.”

Eleanor smiled softly, and accepted the invitation.

Theodore smirked a bit as the Black Lord left them. If Eleanor didn't know the meaning of the word “love”, Sirius Black seemed to be just as oblivious. And if it was just meant to be a perfect friendship, at least it was one he was more than alright with.

As for Sirius, even if he wasn't sure why exactly he had acted so, he was for now too preoccupied with passing this damned door to think about it.

Oh well, the sooner the better, was it?

With Harry trailing after him, Sirius bravely stepped amongst the beasts.

“Lord Black, one word, please!”

“What do you think of your previous imprisonment?”

“Is there any declaration that you would want to make after this trial?”

“Would you murder Peter Pettigrew if you were to find him?”

At this particular question, Sirius only smiled coldly. There certainly was no warmth in his eyes, and he was quite certain that the photo that had been taken at the same time would be lovely on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. He truly hoped that Snape would buy the newspapers, for once, just so that a certain rat could see the picture.

Not far away, some journalists were trying another approach, interviewing the people that were still leaving the courtroom to get their point of view on the trial. It was certainly a bit less interesting than a word from the accused himself, but at least they had better odds to get an answer.

One of the wizards who answered the questions smiled widely, as if greatly amused by all that. His words would be in an article the next day: “The judges have clearly been tricked into acquitting the Black Lord! I'm not a judge, but he tricked me, and I'm totally alright with that.” The headline to that article would be another quote from a spectator, “He made us forget his crimes by shoving our noses in ours.”

As he moved through the journalists without saying a word, he tensed.

That was not going to happen.

Or maybe it would.

Sirius focused on the years in Azkaban, the pain, the hunger, the rage, the cold, the despair. He focused, he remembered, he thought only of that.

And when he did, he took down all his occlumency shields.

Harry, evading the question of yet another journalist, turned back to his godfather, and almost bumped into him. Worried, he made to call for Sirius, who had altogether stopped to move.

But before he got to do that, a terrifying scream echoed in the corridor.

All the journalists stopped talking, and turned around to look at one of their colleagues, who had her wand drawn, but hidden in her sleeve, and pointed at the Black Lord. The witch was now on her knees, a look of utter horror on her face, and tears rolling down her cheeks. It was as if she couldn't let go of the wand, and couldn't make it point elsewhere than at Sirius Black.

Five Aurors rushed to the scene as Sirius turned slowly to the witch, his face a mask of cold fury.

Dawlish, of course, was the one to speak first. Or, to spit first, as it was.

“What have you done to her, Black?!”

The young Lord's answer was controlled, but many would later swear that there was some kind of underlying sneer in it.

“I did nothing. She went and tried legilimency on me. I believe that is not what civilized people do, at least not outside of a battle or an interrogation.”

Yes, it might have been a good trick for a journalist, but this one was certainly a bit stupid. It was obvious that the Black Lord would be more than able to stop a legilimency attack, or at least detect it.

But Dawlish, as demonstrated before, was an ass. When the one in the wrong was obviously the journalist, he was still trying to accuse Sirius of anything he could. What was his problem, no one could tell, but it was plain visible that he had one.

“If you truly had done nothing, she wouldn't be in that state.”

It wasn't completely false, but it wasn't completely true either, and Sirius really didn't like the fact that there was now another wand pointed at him.

“Oh, but I didn't do a thing. I only decided that since she wanted to see, I would let her see. Right now, I am kindly showing her all my years in Azkaban, all the anger and despair I have amassed there, all my spite and my rancor, all my grudges towards the likes of you, Dawlish. The hatred, and the ever absent hope. But also the cold, the pain, the hunger. How I have become all but a wraith, how I have seen the jailors pass by, with their gruel and their accusatory glances, how they spat on me when they needed someone to vent their anger on, and, worst of all, how I have seen, every single damned year, the Minister for Magic pass by my cell, and look at me as if I was some kind of monster.”

And there it was, for their newspapers and magazines only, a reenactment of the trial that they hadn't been able to record, for the pictures weren't allowed during the trial. The anger, the harshness, but also the control, of the one and only Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Sirius Orion Black!

No need to say that the journalists were seething at that opportunity.

Sirius too was seething.

“She is living, through my memory, the proximity of the dementors. Have you ever felt that, Auror Dawlish? Have you ever been so long next to a dementor, that you are past simple despair? Your mind start saying things that are not true, and yet not untrue; how it happened because of you, even if you weren't the one holding the wand; how your lack of judgment was the cause for their death; how, even if you were to get out of Azkaban, there is absolutely nothing waiting for you outside. Those who still live, even if they believed you innocent, and trust me, when you have spent months with the dementors, you don't doubt they think you guilty, those who are still alive will never want anything to do with you. After all, in the end, it was all you fault, wasn't it? You made one mistake. Only one mistake. And that cost you everything. You were not allowed to make the slightest mistake. But you made one. And so they won't want to see you. Ever. Again. You are a failure, Dawlish, do you understant that? You. Are. A. Failure.”

As he talked, Sirius rebuilt his mental shields. The witch fell to the floor, unconscious. But no one, except the two Aurors who took her to St. Mungo's, no one paid her any attention.

“And since there is nothing waiting for you, Auror Dawlish, don't you think it would be better if you just stayed there, in Azkaban, with the dementors? Them, at least, they won't push you away.”

The Auror had turned white, and his wand was not as high as before. Still, it was pointed at Sirius.

The Black Lord gave it a contemptuous look, and turned away, soon followed by Harry, Remus, Ted, Andromeda and Tonks.

But as the young Lord had stopped looking him in the eyes, Dawlish regained his impudence.

Dumbly as well as boldly, he pointed his wand back at the head of the young Lord.

“Well, Black, maybe we should in fact take a look inside your head! After all, if you have enough in there to destroy one's mind, maybe it is that you are planning worse!”

Dawlish opened his mouth to cast a _legilimens_ , but Sirius spoke first.

“Did you know that a dementor sucked out my soul, two years ago?”

“If it did, then why are you still there, Black?”

Sirius, back still turned to the Auror, patted Harry's head.

“This child here managed to make a patronus just before it was too late. The dementor had sucked my soul out of my body, but it had yet to suck it in. It flew away, and my soul went back where it belonged.”

Dawlish certainly didn't see where it was leading, and maybe he ought to have used legilimency without waiting. But even if he thought Black guilty and dangerous, he also knew that the man was hardly one to speak without reason.

“And so?”

Sirius turned on his heels and went to stand right before the Auror, his wand against his chest.

“Would you want to see my memories of that time, Auror Dawlish?”

Dawlish shuddered at the thought, now certain that if he tried to break into the Black Lord's mind, that was what he would see. His grip on his wand lessened. Sirius smiled, and borrowed said wand.

When the young Lord left the Ministry, he was smirking, and Dawlish was blue with pink flowers.

 

 


	21. Mere feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... It was supposed to be a happy chapter. I swear. Thingd just didn't go that way, and the "about Narcissa" part ended up taking half of the chapter, when it was supposed to be one point amongst seven.  
> As for Adara... she's not really important. Well, she is, but it was in the past. Let's say it's a hint for those who read "The journey back home". I hadn't planned to have her appear so soon, but well, she was the best way to end the conversation. Now that I've been totally cryptic, you can read this chapter!

Sirius side-along apparated Harry to Black Manor, while Andromeda took care of her husband, and Remus of Dora. They appeared not far away from each other, roughly thirty feet from the great wall that surrounded the estate. Apparating too close could make the wards react quite... violently, after all.

Before leaving the Ministry, Sirius had taken back his wand, and called for Sterhn to prepare dinner for six persons. To say the house-elf had been overjoyed at learning that his lord and master wouldn't got back to that dreadful Azkaban wouldn't be accurate, for Sterhn didn't do “overjoyed”, but he certainly had been adamant that the food would be fitting for the occasion.

Certainly, it wasn't ready yet, for even if Sterhn was a house-elf, he couldn't do miracles for all that. The food had at least to be cooked, even if magically so. And anyway, it was way too early to consider dining already. Sterhn would have all the time he needed to prepare this fitting-and-absolutely-regal-dinner-for-the-Master.

As they went to the gates, Harry looked dubiously at the long and high wall before them.

“This seems ominous.”

Sirius smirked a bit, wondering what he would think of the Manor itself. Behind them, Tonks' voice pipped up.

“Harry, this is Black Manor. This is a pure-bloods sanctuary, the main house of a family known for its dark witches and wizards, and the domain of the duke of Black. Of course it's supposed to feel ominous, dark, and dreadful.”

The metamorphmagus walked around Sirius to look at the teenager, a large grin on her face. She had to keep walking backwards to do that, and, knowing their daughter, Ted and Andromeda were waiting for the moment she'd trip over a pebble.

“You've seen Sirius at Grimmauld Place, haven't you? He was dark, ominous, and dreadful to look at. In Black Manor, and as Lord Black, he will be just that, but tenfold. He has to play the part, after all!”

“Ah ah, Nymphadora. Very funny. Now, weren't you supposed to trip over your own foot or something?”

The young woman tried to protest the use of her full name, but as she tried to, she indeed tripped on her own foot and fell down. Remus, who had caught up with them, prevented her from falling on the road just in time. The two looked at each other without moving for a minute, Remus apparently disturbed, Tonks nearly eager. She looked disappointed, though, when he looked away.

Harry wondered what it was about.

Sirius answered that question for him, grumbling.

“Well, my cousin is back to being a clutz, and flirts with my best friend. All is right with the world.”

Of course, now that he had realized what was going on between the two, Sirius was feeling sorry for both of them. There wasn't only the age difference, but also the fact that Remus was a werewolf. While he himself didn't think it to be a problem, he knew Remus wasn't feeling the same way.

Still, Sirius would have liked it better if Nymphadora had refrained from flirting with his best friend during his trial. That had been quite disturbing, really.

Harry looked at the metamorphmagus and his former teacher while his godfather opened the gates to the estate. Was Tonks really serious about that? She looked like she was, if anything.

The idea of Remus and the witch being together suddenly came to life in his mind, and he felt a bit strange. The teenager had never imagined Remus being with anyone. He knew him only a little, considering the werewolf was one of his father's best friends, but already Remus had gotten the place of the bachelor uncle in his life. And Tonks... Well, she was Tonks. Harry wasn't even sure he had really seen her as female all this time. She was... Tonks.

Remus and Tonks? It was odd.

He'd need a bit of time to wrap his mind around the idea, it seemed.

Ted whistled, as he took in the sheer size of the Black domain. Next to him, Andromeda looked around, feeling kind of wistful.

“It's been so long since I last came here...”

Sirius nodded.

“That's what I thought too, when I came back to properly claim the lordship. I must warn you, though, that I unleashed the portraits from the basement. My mother must be happily complaining about me somewhere in a painting, and the same guess is surely valid about your parents, Andromeda.”

The witch nodded grimly at the news. She had expected as much, though that didn't make her want to speak to her parents, even if they were only portraits and not the actual people, for all that. Those damn blood purists idiots! If they said only one single thing about Ted that she didn't like, some of the paintings in the manor would need to be restored afterwards...

They finally arrived at the Manor, that Harry eyed dubiously, as if waiting for it to be a joke. This was way too large, way to grand, way too freakingly amazing. It had to be a joke. Especially after the sorry state of the 12, Grimmauld Place.

But no, it was no joke.

Sirius warned him about not going anywhere near the basement, even if, obviously, the teenager didn't know about the secret basement, as that was the place where most of the dangerous things were. The young Lord reiterated the warning about cursed items he had given to the Aurors, but this time he wasn't as flippant about it. He cared about these people, and didn't want them to lose a leg because of his family madness. The Aurors, well...

Sirius wasn't particularly worried about Remus, who was cautious enough as it was, as long as the traps didn't involve a book of any kind. He wasn't worried at all about Andromeda, who had been raised a Black, and had come to Black Manor enough times for her to know about its traps. He didn't know Ted very well, but the man seemed to be calm, and not likely to run blindly in a pure-bloods' house without thinking of the consequences.

No, Sirius was worried about two people only: Tonks, who was more than likely to literally bump into something dangerous, and Harry, who had proved enough times already that he was exactly like his father on at least one point, curious as hell.

Ah, now that he thought about it, he would have to speak to his godson about how curiosity killed the cat. Sirius wasn't against curiosity in itself, of course. Just, he was against curiosity in times of war, when in a place filled with cursed objects, and when displayed by someone who was the number one target on a psycho's hit list.

If Harry wanted to snoop around safely, he'd have to be a bit more prudent than he had been these last years. Intelligent curiosity, that was how Sirius saw it.

But he wouldn't speak of this today. Today was the first day in years he was free once again, and he was able to spend it with his family... families. Whatever. He wasn't going to waste even more time than necessary on serious topics.

Speaking of which...

Harry ran off with Tonks, to “explore a bit”, they said. In other words, they hadn't listened to one word he had said about Black Manor still not being a safe place to roam around. Remus sighed, and with Ted, he made to follow them, under the grateful gaze of the Black cousins. With the two adults to watch over the walking natural disaster and the way-too-curious-for-his-own-good teenager, maybe they would manage to avoid injuries.

Maybe.

Andromeda and Sirius kept listening for all sorts of screams as they made their way inside.

Sterhn greeted them as eagerly as the house-elf could get, which wasn't much, but still. He was very content to see his Master released of all legal charges, and seemed more than satisfied with the return of Mistress Andromeda to the Manor and into the family. She had always been gentler than her older sister, and more interested in his well-being than her younger sister.

Not that Narcissa was particularly mean or uncaring. Just... she had never truly realized that house-elves were also living, conscious beings. Now, with the years away from any decent person, she had become cold, and almost truly uncaring.

Almost.

Narcissa was the topic of the conversation the two cousins were about to have, and truly, needed to have.

So they moved to the sitting room where Sirius and Remus had spoken about Eleanor Rowle not so long ago, and the Black Lord asked Sterhn to tell Bella to join them when she'd arrive from the Ministry, where he had cowardly abandoned her ghost to the journalists. He was quite certain she wouldn't be happy with him, after that, but well. He had needed a diversion to make his own escape.

They spoke a little about this and that while waiting for her. Andromeda was still a bit tense with the prospect of talking to her sister again, and Sirius did his best to soothe her into a better disposition. The process included, amongst other things, the story-telling of the ghost creeping up on him several times since she had started haunting him.

“No, but seriously, Andie, can you imagine that? One morning out of two, when I wake up, she's there staring at my face! I hope she grows tired of it soon, because it is positively unnerving.”

The witch snorted, remembering her own childhood with Bellatrix.

“Right, she used to do that a lot, when she was ten. She played the trick especially on Narcissa, for our younger sister never got used to it, and she would always scream and tumble out of her bed. After two months of being waken up that way, Mother made sure she wouldn't do it again.”

“Truly? What did she do?”

Andromeda sadly had to destroy her cousin's hopes.

“'Never knew, but I can assure you it was effective.”

Soon they were both speculating about the possibility that, instead of returning Bella's sanity, her death had in fact rewinded her mind to that of a ten years old. The idea was entertaining enough, and they could have gone on the topic for quite a time if left to their own devices; they hadn't had many opportunities to speak so lightly of their cousin and sister for a long time.

Fortunately, Bellatrix's ghost had recently learned how to travel long distances in a short time, since she couldn't apparate anymore. She didn't like doing it, for she always had the feeling she was melting into the world as she did so, and considering she was a ghost, it was more than a probable risk. But she wasn't going to stay any longer than necessary with the hyenas that were the journalists. It was bad enough that she had had to come before the whole courtroom earlier this day. There were so many things she wasn't proud of...

The ghost stormed in the sitting room, making the air suddenly colder.

Sirius and Andromeda raised an eyebrow at her temper.

“Truly, Bellatrix, you should know us Blacks are respectable people. We don't storm into a room, and we even less do that by passing through the door.”

Sirius' face was perfectly serious as he teased his personal ghost.

Bella growled.

“ _Not only did I have to deal with being the ghost of a most infamous woman right in the middle of the Ministry of Magic, Sirius, but as soon as you left I also had to fend off journalists, both about me being partially back from the dead and you playing with everyone during that dratted trial.”_

“Yes, I guessed as much. Actually, it was the exact reason why I left you behind. As a bait. I had made my grand escape from the worst wizarding prison, I had to make a discreet one out of the claws of the journalists.”

The ghost glared at him, deeming it more cautious not to start a battle of wits right now. Andromeda was still more than uncomfortable with her presence, after all.

Sirius grew more grave as he saw her sober up.

“As for Narcissa...”

The two sisters shared a look of understanding. Andromeda was the first one to speak.

“I tried to talk to her before the judgment started, but she cut me off almost immediately. She's good at hidding her emotions, but unless she has a clear goal to achieve, she was never the best of us at this game. I was sitting next to her during your trial, as I'm sure you noticed, and I don't know what it is, but there is something that disturbs her deeply. She was tense as hell, and every time no one looked at her, she glanced worriedly at the Death Eaters in the room.”

Bella nodded, having noticed the same thing from above the chandelier. She knew exactly who were the Death Eaters in the courtroom, unless new recruits had joined since her death, of course. She wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. Still, she knew the ones who mattered, who had been the Da... Voldemort's followers for long, and so, who were reasonably trusted by him.

“ _I told you I suspected it had to do with Lucius' failure at the Department of Mysteries. I might have... ambushed Narcissa on the way out, before the journalists got to me, that is. Of course, she didn't say it outright, for she feared she was being watched, in case she went over to your side now that you're free again. But...”_

Bellatrix hesitated a bit.

“ _Sirius, I think they're not only threatening her or Draco. From what she told me, I think the... Voldemort wants Draco to do something for him, possibly something very difficult, and if the boy fails...”_

The ghost looked away, aware that if she had still been alive, and so, still isane, and still stupidly in love with the Dark... Voldemort, she might have told her sister that it was a honor, and that herself, she would have done it proudly if she had had a son to offer.

There was no telling Narcissa hadn't been honest with her. She hadn't only been afraid of the Death Eaters possibly spying on her. She had been afraid of her sister, too. Even if Sirius had told everyone he had her under control, even if they had made a show of proving it, as well as her newfound sensibility, to the courtroom.

Narcissa trusted no one, currently.

Andromeda sighed, and looked back at her cousin.

“I know you don't like Draco, Sirius, and believe me, I don't like what I have seen or heard about him either. But he's more of a fool than of a bastard. And he's a child. With the way Lucius and Narcissa must have educated him and spoiled him at the same time, it was a given he'd turn out more or less the way he did. We can't have him pay the price of his parents' beliefs.”

Sirius wasn't looking at his cousins anymore, turned towards a window, to the blue sky out there.

“That's right, we can't. I especially can't. He's a Malfoy, but he is the son of a Black. And I'm Lord Black...”

There was a silence before he spoke again, still not looking at either Andromeda or Bellatrix.

“Narcissa wasn't like that, before.”

Sirius turned to look towards the sisters, but he was more looking through them than at them. Maybe he was searching for what was “Black” in them, that thing that made them part of this family, not only by blood, but also because in the end, they were Blacks. They were all different, and at the same time, they were not. They were Blacks.

Maybe he was looking for that little part of their souls that not only the two of them shared, but he did also.

That little part of him that still tied him to all the Blacks, good as well as bad, that had been in history. That little part of him that was as flawed as all the others', because they were Blacks, and there surely was a reason why they could make use of dark magic so easily, wasn't there? That part which made them different from the average wizards and witches, be them pure-bloods, half-bloods or muggle-borns.

Or maybe it was only family love. Nothing more. Just that.

“Narcissa wasn't like that. She has always believed what your parents told her, but she wasn't cold and mean. She still isn't, when it comes to us, to family. But to all the others... She became just like Lucius.”

Lucius Malfoy, who, just like them, had been brought up to be the perfect little pure-blood. On that point at least, Sirius couldn't find anything to fault the wizard with. He and Andromeda had walked out of the preaching... Lucius hadn't. Just like Bellatrix. Just like Narcissa. Just like Regulus. The man's own personality had done the rest.

Sure, Lucius was a bastard.

But wasn't he one too?

If Sirius hadn't walked out of the brain-washing, maybe he'd be just like Lucius. A brain-washed fool of a blood purist. Worse, even, for Sirius was stronger and smarter than the previous Malfoy Lord, though the wizard wasn't anything to laugh at either. A brain-washed Sirius would have been dangerous. It could have happened, a brain-washed Sirius.

It hadn't.

Lucius had been the brain-washed one. Like Narcissa. Like Bellatrix. Like so many pure-bloods, and even some half-bloods.

Like Regulus.

Now, if Bella and Lucius had done too many things in their brain-washed state to simply be forgiven, even considering they could be changed, not all the brain-washed fools were past redemption. Children, especially, weren't.

Draco Malfoy was a child.

And while Lucius had turned out to be a bastard, his son was, for now, only a brat who didn't know any better. A brat, who had never been taught any better.

Why? Because his parents were brain-washed fools too. Brain-washed fools, who had become dangerous as they had been left alone to dwell onto the beliefs they had been brain-washed with.

Andromeda and Bellatrix shared a concerned look as they waited for Sirius to snap out of the thoughtful state he was in, eyes fixed on the sky, but not looking at anything, and a bitter smile on the lips. They weren't sure about what was going on in their cousin's head, but they knew him well enough to say it wasn't something good.

Sirius had made a habit of ignoring everything he couldn't possibly deal with, because it simply couldn't be done. He had made a habit of being rational about almost everything, and so not having regrets that shouldn't be, and that, still, usually were. Why hadn't he saved this one, why had he chosen to help that one over another? It didn't matter. He did what he could, he did the best he could, and when it came to it, he chose to remember that he had succeeded in saving one life out of two, instead of having failed to save the second life.

Sirius had made an habit of forgetting that he was human, when it came to regrets, and to anything that couldn't have been done.

But while he was rational enough not to be hurt because he couldn't mend everything alone, he was also too rational from time to time. Every time there was something he could have done, but hadn't, because it would have hurt him, and he was fed up with being hurt, Sirius would regret it later on. After all, he could forget he was a human being when it came to trying and failing, so why couldn't he forget he was a human being when it came to not trying at all?

These things that hindered him, they were not circumstances. They were mere feelings. Unlike circumstances, feelings could be overlooked.

So why hadn't he overlooked them?

Why hadn't he been rational enough to put aside his own feelings, and just do what had to be done?

Andromeda and Bellatrix knew their cousin too well, at least on that point. If he looked like that, he was certainly thinking that he should have stayed behind, and looked after Narcissa in some way, making sure she'd never turn out as she had. From that, he was surely thinking that he should have stayed with Regulus, and not left before he had pulled his younger brother out of the blood purist mud too. Why hadn't he been able to forget his pain, so that others wouldn't have to know it too?

He did it often enough, after all.

It was even what he was doing with the Order. He was putting aside the pain and the fury, to save those same people who had dared to forget him in Azkaban and never question their decision.

Andromeda was the one to talk and get him out of these somber thoughts.

“Sirius, you can't be everywhere every time, you know that?”

The wizard shrugged.

“Of course. If that's what you're getting at, I'm not blaming myself for failing to save the whole world. Especially because bastards and psychopaths are part of the world, so saving it all would be like saving them too. Trying to get everyone, without exception, out of the mud is Dumbledore's job, not mine.”

Andromeda refrained the urge to roll her eyes that was trying to take over. Sirius was doing this on purpose, no doubt.

“As if you didn't know that's not what I'm talking about. Be it Dumbledore's job or not, you recognize you can't do that. Now, what I'm getting at, is why you can't recognize the same things for a single person or two. No one expect you to forget yourself for the sake of your task; you shouldn't expect it either. You are allowed to be done with it, when it's too much. I left Narcissa behind, and you left Regulus behind. But do you blame me for thinking it was enough? You don't. Instead, you blame yourself for not helping, not only your brother, but my sister too. You refuse to see we are guilty of the same offense, if it can be called an offense. You'd rather take it all upon yourself, with the excuse that you are able to rationalize everything, and so should be able to act accordingly.”

Sirius didn't say anything, only listening. But he wasn't looking at the window or at the sky behind it anymore. He was looking at Andromeda, and his face was unreadable.

“You forgive me for being a human being, and having feelings. And you wouldn't forgive yourself for the same reasons?”

Sirius' answer to that was quiet, almost inaudible.

“Who said I am a human being?”

This time, it was Bellatrix who spoke, her voice ghostly, but soft enough. Careful. Cautious, even.

As if she knew her words could break her cousin, somehow.

Maybe she knew they would.

“ _Sirius... If it's about Adhara...”_

The wizard's eyes flashed at the name, and the sisters knew they wouldn't get anything else from him. It was always the case, when it came to Adara. Talking about her made him snap, at best. And still, they needed to speak about Adara Black. Even if Sirius didn't want to.

But not this time.

This time, they was nothing they could say that he would listen to. So Bella and Andromeda just kept silent, exchanging a meaningful glance that Sirius certainly wouldn't miss to notice.

The young Black Lord stood up, making for the door.

“I will speak with Narcissa. Maybe she wants help, but doesn't dare to ask. But I won't help her, if she doesn't ask me too. I can't lose time with someone who's not sure on which bank they stand.”

The wizard left the room on these words, while the two witches stayed behind, sighing in exasperation. If Sirius kept on refusing to talk about Adara, Andromeda wouldn't even get the time to be angry at her older sister...

He met Tonks and her father, searching for their mother and wife, on his way out. Then, Sirius spent the rest of the afternoon with Harry and Remus, showing them some of the interesting places that were near the manor.

The small waterfall behind the empty stables immediately gained Harry's approval, while the werewolf rolled his eyes when, somehow, the teenager ended up in the water; the fact that Sirius had stood right behind him certainly had nothing to do with the fall. Absolutely nothing. It wasn't as if Sirius had taken the habit to push people into pools any time he could when they had been young. How many time had Peter and James been drenched as they had gone back to the Potters' during the holidays? Luckily, Sirius had avoided doing that to the werewolf right before or after the full moon, knowing very well that he could have easily fallen ill, weakened as he was. It didn't mean, of course, that it prevented Sirius from doing it when Remus had been in relatively good health.

Once the teenager was out of the water pool, and after Remus had obliged him with a drying spell, they walked around a bit more. Sirius showed them a clearing and an old foutain that seemed right out of a fairy tale. Remus joked about fairies living around, but Sirius only gave him a smirk as an answer. The werewolf should have known there were fairies living in the Blacks' woods. It wasn't as if there weren't grims, hellhounds and a cerberus that were already there. Next thing he knew, he would hear the Blacks had been breeding phoenixes in their backyard for twelve generations.

Alright. Maybe not phoenixes.

But surely they had others incredible animals and creatures on their lands.

The three of them were watching the cave in which they knew the group of doggish creatures to dwell from afar when Sterhn popped into existence next to them, announcing that the supper would soon be ready, and the Master and his guests should head back to the manor if he didn't want the dishes to be cooled down by the time they arrived.

On their way back, Sirius made sure to tell his godson once again that when he'd be explorating the estate, he'd better be cautious around the animals. They weren't exactly wild, but it didn't mean they were pets either. Harry said something along the line of not being stupid, and Remus and Sirius exchanged a glance.

“It's not so much about you being stupid. It's more about you being a danger magnet.”

The teenager flushed, but good-naturedly, at the comment. He couldn't deny trouble usually ended up happening to him. When he wasn't deliberately looking for it, that is.

When they got to the manor, Sterhn was waiting for them on the stairs. Dinner was ready, and served in the dining room. Mistress Andromeda and her husband, as well as their daughter Miss Nymphadora were waiting for the Master, the Master's great friend, and Mistress Dorea's relative.

Sirius groaned, finally realizing he would have been better off ordering the house-elf to serve the dinner in the smaller, more private dining room. Black Manor's official dining room was almost half as large as the Great Hall, and not far from a third of the Hall's length. The Blacks had been a very large family, once upon a time.

Or once upon several times, to be accurate. Sirius' childhood had been one of those times.

And after that... Everyone had died, and those who hadn't had been cast out.

He hoped Harry wouldn't find the dining room too... let's say grand and gloomy. It wasn't because Sirius liked the color black that everybody felt the same. And there was a lot of black in Black Manor.

Apparently, the teenager was too awed to find the manor creepy.

Or maybe it was simply that after Grimmauld Place and its terrible state, even Black Manor would be welcoming to anyone.

As the three walked in the dining room, Sirius spotted his cousin looking at the family tree on the furthest wall. He winced a bit, excusing himself from Harry's company, and joined Andromeda.

She was staring at the name of her other cousin, finding it hard to miss the fact that there wasn't a date of death anymore.

“It started after I updated the tree.”

The witch gave him a sidelong glance, unable to look away from Regulus' name for too long.

“Do you think your grandfather messed with the tree after his disappearance?”

“Maybe, to keep him safe. But don't get your hopes up. I've been to the basement, and Regulus' portrait is already there, only, not awake yet. He hasn't been for almost seventeen years.”

Their conversation was no more than a whisper, not only because they didn't want to be overheard, but also because they didn't dare to speak too loudly, and end up hoping for a hopeless dream to become reality because of words.

Andromeda frowned.

“That can only mean two things: your brother is somewhere between life and death, comatose, maybe, or he doesn't think of himself as 'Regulus Black' anymore.”

Sirius didn't really wince, keeping his face under control, but not his eyes.

“Don't give me hope, Andie. Don't give me hope.”

Then, Harry called them over. The two Blacks ripped themselves off the family tree, and joined their friends and family on the other side of the room. A room that was, as it was, occupied by a very long and dark table, so long the six of them covered only a sixth of it length. Approximately.

They ate well, Sterhn's cooking being way better that Kreacher's, who certainly had never made any efforts to please anyone's tastes amongst Sirius' guests. Harry wasn't quite sure the thing there was for main course was actually possible to enunciate, it being obviously french, but Sirius only smirked at his challenge, and said a whole sentence in French. Remus cocked an eyebrow at his friend's perfect education and its ostentatious display, as Harry glared at his godfather in mock hurt. Tonks was too busy not putting any food somewhere else than in her mouth, while speaking with her mother at the same, which didn't end very well, to the older witch's dismay. Ted purposely looked elsewhere when he guessed he was about to get his customary it's-definitely-from-you-that-she-got-that look.

Sirius wasn't quite sure he'd be able to repeat the conversations they had during this dinner. He was too happy to be free again, and to have at least one less thing to worry about.

There was one part of the conversation, though, that he wouldn't forget.

“You have to admit, Sirius, that you handled that trial like a true lawyer.”

The young Lord snorted, half-serious, half-joking, at his cousin.

“I believe I did that better than any lawyer would have.”

Remus rolled his eyes, knowing pretty well it was no use trying to deflate the man's ego. First of all, because his friend was right. Second thing, because Sirius was making a point of appearing self-important from time to time. For the fun, you know. The point being, he was aware of how it sounded, and never did it out of line.

Alright, out of certain lines. Grave, serious lines. School lines, on the other hand...

Andromeda gave her cousin a lopsided smile. Sirius instantly grew wary.

“You certainly played them all.”

“Please, don't mention manipulating anyone for the next month. I had to do that enough today.”

Remus interrupted, while keeping an eye on Tonks, who was oddly staring at him from the other side of the table.

“You looked more like you were enjoying yourself than being in pain, Sirius.”

“Of course I did. I couldn't have found a better way than to rub it in their faces. But three hours of doing so? It gets old soon enough, and I eventually got fed up with them not believing me. The worst being that some could actually see the truth in my words, but were still trying to find a way to blame me. After all, it was so much easier than to admit they had thrown an innocent man into Azkaban...”

Tonks snaped out of her Moony-induced trance, and looked at her cousin.

“No, but really, you were totally awesome, Sirius! It was as if you had an answer for each one of their points, and sharp words to accompany them.”

“It's more like they were following one of the many frames I had envisaged.”

“You're sure you were not supposed to be in Slytherin? You sure are cunning, and even vicious.”

Andromeda shot her daughter a dirty look, but inwardly she was gloating. Nymphadora was taking the conversation exactly where she wanted it to go, and that without having even been told what to do. This time, Sirius wouldn't get away with a half-truth!

“Are you implying that I'm vicious, young girl?”

Tonks gulped, missing the look on Sirius' face.

“Of course not, mum. It's not as if I'm scarred of you either, by the way. There's nothing to fear about you. You're a perfectly loveable mum, if I say so. Of course, if someone were to anger you, I'm sure they'd better be scared. But I did nothing to anger you, right, my sweet and delicate mum?”

Andromeda smirked a bit, knowing her daughter was only half-acting in her rambling. Ted smiled fondly at his wife and daughter, sharing a knowing look with Remus at the same time.

“That's better, Nymphadora. Now, what were you asking Sirius, again? Ah, right, about his Sorting.”

The witch turned to her cousin, her smile more soothing than ever. The man stiffened. He wasn't completely oblivious to Andromeda's motive in this conversation.

“Come one, Sirius, tell her what you always told us about how it went. She'd be delighted to hear the Sorting Hat considered, even briefly, to put you in Hufflepuff.”

The wizard's upper lip twitched, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words. Damn Andromeda for not having forgotten about the sinemendatium!

“Unless you can't, of course. Now, that would mean you have been lying to me for twenty five years, you scamp. I want to hear the truth. Now.”

The inquiring looks he received from not only his cousin n°1, but his godson, best friend, cousin n°2 and cousin n°1's husband too, led Sirius to sigh dramatically.

“Alright, alright! I give up.”

But even as he said that, he looked elsewhere. Soon, they all understood he wasn't planning to tell them, if he could not to. Harry rolled his eyes, and decided it was time to step in.

“I'm interested too. With your show from this morning, I hardly believe you were only a candidate for Gryffindor... though I have to admit you said things I wouldn't have even dared to think about in your situation. If that's not bravery...”

Sirius glared at his godson. That was a sly attack!

“You want the truth. Well, Remus could tell you it took roughly one minute for the Hat to Sort me, but I think that's not what you want to know about... Erm, I, well, sort of, threatened the, ah, Sorting Hat, so that he'd, hum, sort me. In Gryffindor, that is.”

Tonks looked at her cousin as if she had never seen him before, and her father was refraining a chuckle from escaping his lips right now.

Andromeda was all but bemused at Sirius' statement.

“I'm not even sure someone else than you ever threatened the Sorting Hat to get their way. Asked, yes, begged, surely, demanded, I suppose, but threatened?! I take it it loved your guts and decided that yes, you'd be a Gryffindor, if only because of that?”

Sirius cleared his throat, and pointed out that the dessert was here. But while Harry and Tonks turned eagerly to look, the three others didn't bulge. Remus merely raised an eyebrow.

“So I guess you weren't supposed to be a Gryffindor, at first?”

Sirius shrugged, ill-at-ease as he hadn't ever told any of his friends about this. Which meant, that he had told no one at all.

“Well, it might be that the Sorting Hat was having a great battle with itself to choose between Gryffindor and Slytherin. I merely helped it to settle on a choice, with an appropriate incentive. And I'm quite sure my speaking up made it clear that I was fifty percent a lion, when only fourty-nine percent a snake.”

“Oh. And what was the last percent?”

Sirius glanced at his youngest cousin. The part of the answer he had kept hidden all these years was done, and this other part wasn't something he minded. After all, being loyal to a fault was one of his biggest flaws. He was quite sure Andromeda was only asking to please her daughter and her husband.

“Hufflepuff, of course. I didn't care enough for knowledge to end up in Ravenclaw.”

After that, the conversation went on to new subjects. Sirius was hiding it, but Remus knew him too well to be fooled. Admitting to being more than fitting for his family House wasn't easy. He had spent so much time distancing himself from most of his family...

Remus sighed.

It had never been about others knowing, but about Sirius admitting it.

Eventually the dinner ended. They all used the fireplace to go home, and lastly Sirius had to send Harry back to Privet Drive.

Harry and Sirius walked out of the property, and Sirius apparated them in Little Whinging, in the public park near the Dursleys'. When they arrived at the house, Hary tried to sneak in without being seen, but Vernon Dursley opened the door violently, having seen them through the window. Before the huge man got the time to even glare at Harry, Sirius caught his eyes. The two adults looked at each other, and eventually the muggle looked away, sweating a bit. There was something uncanny about the wizard's silver eyes, it made him shudder in fear.

Sirius promised his godson he would come and pick him up next monday.

The next days went off before he could notice.

Between all the paperwork, and Bella's testimony with Scrimgeour and two Aurors, Sirius barely had the time to look at the newspapers. He wasn't surprised to read that some pure-bloods had suddenly been impossible to locate, after his trial. Lord Goyle was one of them, obviously. Even if it wasn't surprising, he was a bit disgruntled to notice that all of the Death Eaters his ghostly cousin had denounced had fled before she had even done it.

The articles about him were entertaining to read. Some were hateful, other hilarious, and Sirius certainly couldn't deny he had, partially at least, talked himself out of jail by arguing about torture.

On sunday, one Eleanor Rowle came by Black Manor to pay him a visit. It was very pleasant to get to know her once again, and a bit better, though the young Lord wasn't sure why exactly. It didn't feel quite like friendship.

If only Bella hadn't been snickering above or behind them for more than half of the visit...

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upon noticing that I had messed up with the timeline ( Harry being at the Dursleys' and then back at Hogwarts ), I proofread all the chapters from the beginning to get rid of that problem. I took the opportunity to magick away all the typos and other errors I found, even if it's certainly not all of them.  
> And, I thought it'd be great to have a mean to warn you when such a thing happened. So I ended up creating a twitter account, where I'll post this kind of notices, as well as a few hints about what I'm currently writing, and the news for each new chapter. All that about all my stories. Tell me what you think, please? It could be useful, especially for all those who don't have an account on the site, I think.  
> https://twitter.com/EKernor  
> Well, if anything, I tried.


	22. Family matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts funny, and it ends angsty. Just so you know. After all, I have to, because when things will get serious, Sirius won't have the time to get ansgty.  
> ...  
> Nah. I'll always find a way to make him angsty.
> 
> Also, in this chapter appear a mention of something you might wonder about. It's only my headcanon that I use for all my fanfics about Sirius and the Blacks in general. Yes, I'm also speaking about "The journey back home".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's terrible how quickly we take things for granted. Comments and reviews, for example. On the last chapter, both here and on ff.net, I got only one of these. I'm sad. I've always knew people didn't like me.
> 
> So I'm experimenting; what comes out of it comes out of it.  
> "PLEASE COMMENT" in a whining voice.
> 
> And in case you hadn't seen it on the last update of chapter 21, I've proofread the whole story and made as many corrections as I could see needed. There are surrely something left, but I've not become english or american or a native of any country where English is the main language, so bear with it.  
> Besides typos and mistakes corrected, I also made changes about Euphemia/Fleamont and Dorea/Charlus Potter. I didn't know, back when I first wrote about James' parents.  
> I also corrected the enormous mistake I made with the timeline: Harry is currently at the Dursleys', since yes, the school year has ended, so Sirius couldn't have brought him back to Hogwarts. Silly me.
> 
> Last but not least, I've started a twitter account where I'll post about updates and other things for all my fanfics. Go and see if you're interested.  
> https://twitter.com/EKernor
> 
> Damn, I don't think I've ever written so much as I just did in the author notes.

Sirius had done everything he could to look muggle-presentable. He was wearing a black suit with grey stripes and gold and silver buttons, a silver tie, a dark grey shirt and charcoal leather shoes. He had been half-tempted to take a cane, just to look smuggishly noble, but it reminded him of Malfoy, and it had lessened his enthusiasm. And since there was no way he'd cut his hair, he had tied it with a golden thread.

If there was one reason why being a Black wasn't so bad, it was that he could look snobbish without even having to work on his attitude. Of course, Remus would say it wasn't only because of the clothes, but also because of his personality that was shitty to begin with.

But this day, Sirius had to admit he was outdoing himself. The point of the day was to sneer at three particular muggles, so he had to do his best.

Right. Of course, the true point of the day was to get Harry from the Dursleys', now that all the paperwork had been done and that Sirius could actually take care of his godson, legally, that is. But if he could sneer at the Dursleys in doing so, the young Lord wasn't against it.

Sirius avoided a flying toothbrush, and grabbed the bus' railing before his face got smashed onto the glass window. He had a stupid grin on his face, and he didn't care at all.

Obviously, the grin was because he was on his way to get Harry back from the Dursley house. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was, for the first time since 1981, on the highest deck of the Knight Bus. Nothing at all. It wasn't as if he insanely loved this mode of transportation. Not at all.

James had claimed him insane, the first time they had taken the Knight Bus. Peter had only thrown up. And Remus had sighed, still swaying on his feet. Afterwards, the werewolf and Prongs had agreed it wasn't a surprise, considering how Sirius played quidditch. That is, flying straight into people, avoiding at the last minute, and from time to time jumping off his broom, only to fall back onto it a few feet away and / or below. There were even times when he'd end up standing, not ony on his broom, but on the tip of said broom, while he'd beat away a bludger.

The point was, Sirius Black was currently on the third deck of the Knight Bus with an insane grin on his face, on his way to get Harry from the Dursleys, and there was an aged witch sitting in front of him who looked completely terrified.

Now, we could wonder why the Black Lord was using the Knight Bus when he could have simply disapparated to Privet Drive. The aswer was simple: he liked the bus too much not to take the opportunity. The fact that the Knight Bus was a public danger only added to the fun of riding it.

Finally the bus stopped in front of Privet Drive, n°4, in a foreboding screeching of tires. Sirius made the grin disappear from his face as he went down the stairs, and he politely saluted the driver as he got out. One minute later, the Knight Bus had disappeared, and no muggle, not even the one who was only ten feet away, had noticed it.

But the man surely noticed the well-clothed young man who suddenly appeared in the street. The muggle decided he hadn't been paying attention, but still got curious. This man didn't seem likely to know the Dursleys. No matter how much they liked to pretend, Vernon and Petunia Dursley weren't part of such a high society.

Was it silver, that reflected the light like that on the stranger's hand?

The black-haired, black-clothed man still made his way to the Dursleys' door, and rang the bell.

As the muggle squinted, he managed to see that indeed, it seemed that the man had a silver ring on his hand. With a big, black stone on it. Damn, whoever this man was, he was filthy rich.

Sirius waited only an instant, before he heard some mumbling behind the door, and the heavy footsteps of an oversized man. Dursley, senior or junior, he wasn't sure. Senior, most likely, considering Dudley Dursley didn't seem to be, from what Harry had told him, the kind of teenager who would come and open the door. He'd rather order his own parents around.

The door opened on a large man with an enormous moustache. Jackpot.

Vernon looked at the stranger from head to toes, taking in the expensive clothing, the black diamond at the man's hand. The only bad point was the long hair. And there was the fact that he looked strangely similar... As if he had seen him on TV or something, but with another garb, not like that. Not that respectable.

Sirius put on his most freezing smile.

“I believe Harry told you I'd be fetching him this monday? My name is Sirius Black.”

The enormous man blinked, then started to get red in the face. But even if Vernon Dursley had two inches over Sirius, who wasn't small either, by the way, even if the muggle was at least thrice heavier than the wizard, the Black Lord was still just that, Lord Black.

The animagus' smile got meaner.

“Don't start a ruckus now, Dursley, or the whole neighborhood will hear. I am quite certain you wouldn't want to be the center of this kind of gossip.”

Vernon ushered the wizard inside and shut the door closed, even if he didn't like to allow someone like that in his house. It was still better than letting the neighbors see him argue with such a respectable looking man. Even if the only thing about the wizard that was probably respectable was how he looked.

Harry's uncle bellowed for his nephew to come down with his things and hurry up, since someone had finally decided to take him back.

Only then did it sink in that this wizard was, in fact, Harry's godfather. From there, it all went downhill for the muggle, who made the connection with the report on the escaped convict from three years before.

Vernon looked back at the wizard, his beefy face losing its color.

“You are that criminal, the murderer they're searching for...!”

Now that he had recognized him, the muggle could just tell. Even if the man looked nothing like the picture they had been shown after the escape, he still somewhat looked like the picture. His face wasn't gaunt anymore, his hair wasn't shabby, unruly and dirty anymore, but it was just the same expression, and those eyes! Those freaking silver eyes, that almost seemed to glow on their own inner light! Even on the picture, he had been able to tell these eyes weren't normal!!! Of course the escaped criminal had to be one of those freaks!

The wizard stayed calm, though Vernon could just tell there was a terrible fury hidden under the mask.

“I was framed. Not that I wouldn't have been able to commit the crime I have been imprisoned for, but I was innocent. I was finally cleared last week. Of course, paperwork and all, I can't officially take custody of Harry, so he will have to come back for a week next month, and probably for the summer holidays of next year too, but I am allowed to take him at Black Manor nonetheless. As long as he spends one week a month here during the holidays, and as long as he gets back here if something happens to me.”

It wasn't the complete truth. Of course, he had finished the paperwork, and he had every right to live with Harry. But this small lie, no matter how unpleasant it was, was to assure the teenager's security. Lily had sacrificed herself for her son, and the only layer of protection that remained from that sacrifice after the graveyard was this house. Even if it was the Dursley house, it was still a safe house, and it would remain so for one more year.

Sirius wasn't going to just throw away this safe house.

So he had to make sure that Harry's uncle understood the teenager still had to come back, even if it pleased no one in this house. Sirius wasn't the most pleased of all, but as he had explained to his godson, he'd rather see Harry alive and a bit unhappy than plain dead. And only two weeks out of eight with the Dursleys was already better than what the teenager usually had to suffer.

Sirius' smile completely disappeared, and Vernon Dursley really didn't like the glint that appeared in the wizard's eyes.

“And, Dursley. I am not asking you to love him as a nephew, seeing as you've already proved it was impossible for your prejudiced brain, but if you abuse him in any way, even verbally, I will come for your hide. Meaning, you will lose everything, from your job to your reputation. I am not only posing as someone important, muggle. I am someone important, and I have access to so much power, without even taking into account magical power, that you can't possibly imagine what I could do to your name. You'd better stay correct with Harry, even if you 'don't approve of imagination'.”

Vernon looked like he wanted to talk back, but Harry appeared with his trunk just at that moment.

“My, Lord Black! It is one hell of an escort I am getting!”

Vernon Dursley positively blanched when he heard the freak's title.

“Ah, but Harry, you seem to forget you are also a Lord. You are the last living member of the House of Potter, after all. As soon as you turn seventeen, you will be a baron.”

Harry frowned. He hadn't heard about that...

But Sirius was doing it on purpose. He just had to rub it in Vernon's face, you see. It was abolutely necessary.

The animagus turned back to look at Vernon Dursley, and noticed that his wife and son were also here, just behind their husband and father. They had surely arrived while he had been looking at his godson.

Petunia Dursley almost choked on her tongue as she remembered where she had seen that particular wizard, years ago. Obviously she hadn't forgotten about that day. She had never known his name, but she was quite sure this was this James Potter's best friend, both of whom she had seen as she had departed her parents' house. They had come to visit Lily, and...

And that old wizard headmaster, Dumbledore, had said in his letter that the one who had revealed to her sister's murderer where Lily had been hiding had been this man. He had written that it had been James Potter's best friend, and she had just known it had been him. She had seen, all those years prior, she had seen the cruelty in his eyes.

“You're the one who sold out Lily!!!”

And she moved in front of Dudley, instinctively, as if the wizard was going to go after the rest of her family, after he had condemned his sister to death.

Petunia had not registered the fact that for the first time in years, she had said her sister's first name, and meant it. She had not registered the fact that for once, she had thought of Lily as her sister. She was too shocked with the fact that the one responsible for her sister's death was here, in her house.

Sirius, however, didn't miss these facts.

“And there it is, Petunia Dursley. There it is, the proof that despite everything, you recognize that you freakish sister was still your sister. But even so, I'd rather not hear you speak her name as long as you don't realize what it means. Lily was your sister, and Harry is her son. He is your nephew, but you don't seem to realize that.”

Sirius made for the door, but stopped just before he left, turning once more to Petunia Dursley.

“And no, I wasn't the one who sold out James and Lily to Voldemort, though everyone thought so at the time. If you wish to contact me, send a letter to the Duke of Black, Black Manor, Norfolk.”

The Dursleys were gobsmacked, when they realized that Sirius Black was not only a Lord, but a duke. They only stared at the two wizards as the animagus grabbed the other side of Harry's trunk.

Only two thoughts went to and fro: they had housed a baron in a cupboard, and a duke had just threatened to destroy their lives.

Harry followed his godfather out of the house, and they made their way down Privet Drive under the curious eyes of the neighbors, who had always been told that the Potter nephew of the Dursleys was a terrible delinquent... Even if they had never seen the shadow of a proof. Most of them were more dubious about the matter than the Dursleys thought. After all, they had seen the boy working in the garden since he was little, and they had seen him hang around sadly with no friends. And they had seen the Dursley child walk around as if he owned the street. The neighbors didn't know all the truth, but they weren't idiots. They could tell there was something fishy about that delinquent story.

And now, the teenager could be seen leaving with a man whose clothes seemed right out of the tailor's shop. A man who had gold and silver buttons. A man who, as the rumor would soon make it known, had a ring with a black diamond on it.

A man who had claimed to be the child's godfather, unable to take him in for years, but here now.

The Dursleys would know what it was, to be the center of unwanted gossip.

And it was exactly what Sirius had aimed to do. After all, he couldn't really go after the Dursleys, as long as Lily's protection existed. He couldn't completely destroy their lives. It wouldn't have been good, if he did. And they hadn't done anything unforgivable... just on the limit, they were, and he couldn't bring himself to throw them in the mud. But they had to pay for what they had done to Harry, and if the most he could do for now was to get them as uncomfortable as possible, he'd do it.

When they reached a small square, Sirius stopped, and turned to look at his godson.

“Alright, I'll side-along apparate you to the gates of Black Manor, so hold on your trunk.”

Harry opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but eventually he thought better of it, and nodded. A square in Little Whinging was not the best place to question his godfather about wizarding nobility.

Harry felt as if his body was being passed through a tight pipe, and just when he had the feeling he couldn't breath anymore, he saw the high wall of the Black domain before him. Air rushed back into his lungs, and he almost fell on his knees. He definitely didn't like side-along apparition.

When the teenager looked back at his godfather, the animagus was smirking.

“Why doesn't it affect you all the same?”

“That's because it's side-along apparition for you, but plain apparition for me. I'm using my own magic to switch spots, but you are being forced by my magic. To me, it's only a bit unpleasant, and when you learn apparition, you'll see it's not so bad if you do it yourself.”

Harry grumbled.

The two wizards bent down to get the teenager's trunk, but Harry could see how Sirius kept his wand in hand, just in case. Black Manor was protected, but they weren't yet on the domain, they were just outside. The fact that the Black estate was protected against intruders and unwanted apparition also meant it was protected against all kinds of apparition. They had to apparate outside, and they could get attacked while they were outside.

Maybe it would happen, on day, that Black Manor would be besieged.

Fortunately, nothing happened this day, and Sirius and Harry passed the gates without trouble.

Sirius levitated the trunk to a room on the first floor, where Harry would stay, and he told the teenager that he was himself two floors above. There was no need to go up the stairs, however, because the teenager could just call for the house-elf who would warn him.

After that, Sirius formally presented Harry and Stehrn, ordering the house-elf to obey Harry... unless it went against Sirius' wishes, of course. There the animagus gave his godson a stern look, and for a moment Harry felt sheepish. The teenager had registered only now that he was staying, for the first time in his life, with an adult who cared for him, but also had power over him. The Dursleys had never cared, and Molly Weasley had always seen him as a loved guest, even if as a child, and so she had never really punished him for anything, even if sometimes she had tried to keep some things from him. And last summer didn't really count, for Sirius had been too restrained himself to be a proper godparent.

Once Harry had finished putting his things in the wardrobe, and overall around the bedroom, the teenager went in search of his godfather. Black Manor was way larger than what he was used to, Hogwarts excluded, and anyway, there were hundreds of people in Hogwarts. Giving up, Harry called for Stehrn.

The house-elf appeared with a gentle “pop”, and looked quizzically at his Master's godson.

“Harry Potter has called for Sterhn?”

Harry cleared his throat, ill-at-ease with that elf who wasn't adoring him like Dobby, insulting him like Kreacher, or defending her former Master incessantly like Winky. A house-elf, in other words, who was behaving pretty normal... considering he was a house-elf.

“Yeah, erm... Well, I wondered where Sirius was, in fact, and I thought maybe you knew?”

Sterhn's eyes lit up at the mention of his Master, and he straightened his back proudly.

“The Master is drinking tea in the sitting room of the first floor, Harry Potter. Sterhn will show the way to the Master's godson.”

At the mention of tea and Sirius in the same sentence, Harry frowned slightly, remembering pretty well the smell of alcohol coming from his godfather's room the previous year, but he followed the house-elf. After all, if Sirius was doing his best to get rid of the nasty drinking habit he had developed, stuck at Grimmauld, it was for the better.

Sterhn led the teen to Sirius, and brought a drink for him at his Master's command.

Then the two wizards were alone.

“What was that about me being a baron?”

Sirius frowned, and put down his cup of tea.

“You don't know? The Potters are, or, well, were pure-bloods. Which mean your name is old. It's actually the House of Potter. Your grand-father Fleamont died, along your grand-mother Euphemia, of the dragon pox at the end of 1979. His brother Charlus, whose wife was my great-aunt Dorea Black, by the way, had died a few years before that with his son, your cousin, in one of the earliest Death Eaters attack, passing the Lordship to Fleamont. So when he died, James was Lord Potter. Meaning you are Lord Potter, and as soon as you are of age, you will be able to act accordingly.”

There was a silence, during which Sirius thought of the Potter ring of lordship. Now that they talked about that... Harry didn't have it. He didn't even have the normal Potter family ring. Those rings were supposed to be tied to the family members, so they couldn't be stolen, and even if one lost them, they'd reappear when one would search for them.

The animagus was quite sure Ron Weasley had his, even if he never talked about it. So why...?

Oh, obviously. Harry couldn't have kept it at the Dursleys'.

“I think Dumbledore somehow disconnected your family ring when he left you at the Dursleys'. If not, it should have appeared when you were five, and it would have certainly caused some questions, be it at school or at home.”

“Disconnected?!?”

Harry sounded a bit anxious, certainly, and it made Sirius laugh.

“Don't worry, it only means it didn't manifest itself. It doesn't take away your rights or anything. Only the Lord of your House can do that, and guess what? It's you. Try to think hard about it, and if you are willing enough, the ring will appear at your finger... just like that”.

Harry started when he saw the golden ring, with the Potter family armorial bearings on it, that had just materialized itself on his right hand.

“It really appeared... But what does a Lord do, exactly?”

Sirius relaxed on the sofa, looking at his own ring. He still wondered why the Blacks' was so different from the others, though he knew the story. He knew it was a family heirloom from old, and why they had kept it instead of replacing it with a formal ring of lordship. Still, he felt there was something else, something more to the story...

But today wasn't the day he'd learn the truth about his family's origins.

“We wizarding Lords of the United Kingdom and of Ireland have given up most of our power when we agreed to the creation of the Ministry of Magic in the seventeenth century. Still, we have plenty left, and we have a role to play. Our official role is to vote the laws, alongside as many representatives of the people and of the Ministry as there are Lords and Ladies, and to partake in any Wizengamot hearing calling for the whole court to be present. It was almost the case with your disciplinary audience, but that's only because Fudge was trying to make an example out of you. It was truly the case for me, and that, it's perfectly normal, considering I am myself a Lord and the gravity of the accusations.”

Harry almost seemed disappointed. The older wizard smiled, quite certain it had more to do with the fact that it all seemed boring to the teenager, and not because he felt this wasn't enough power.

“That's all?”

“That's already a lot, you mean. I fully intent to make use of my power to keep the laws against werewolves and other part-humans at a minimum. With some luck, I'll be able to influence Moony's life into something better. And there is still all the unofficial power that comes with being a member of a Noble and Ancient House. The Potters don't have much wealth, because they never cared for this kind of things, but it doesn't mean they were poor. You've seen what your parents left you in your vault. Let me tell you they never got the time to accumulate, and they lost some money as they went into hiding and so couldn't work, but even without me being responsible of you, it should still last you all your years of school, and hopefully three or four more years. I'm pretty sure the ancestral home in Devon is still yours, as what is left of your parents' house...”

There Sirius stopped talking for a time, his face somber.

“I'll have to take you to these two houses one day, I suppose.”

There was a silence during which Harry did not dare to look at his godfather's face, sure as he was to find the older wizard's face morphed into a mask of pain.

“Anyway, some families are richer than others, and the Blacks are the richest. The Weasleys are broke, but they are way more numerous than the Blacks ever where, and that's saying something. Only a few decades back, this House had more branches than I have fingers. It's not surprising the House of Weasley is so poor, when you know they have even more branches than the Blacks had, and that most of those have at least two or three children.”

After that, they talked a bit more about both the House of Potter and the House of Black. Harry learned a lot about what it would soon mean to be him, in barely more than a year. He still had much to learn, but he knew better now, than to believe he was only The-Boy-Who-Lived. Meaning, he was in deep shit, because he just couldn't see how he was meant to live between all the duties he'd have, with all the “titles” he had earned... more or less willingly, more or less randomly.

But eventually the conversation went back to a topic Harry had cautiously avoided since they had gotten out of Privet Drive and in Black Manor. In other words, the Dursleys.

Sirius looked at the teenager with cold eyes, but they both knew the coldness wasn't directed at his godson. Rather, it was meant for the ones who had been a terrible family to the boy. Sirius knew a lot about that. He didn't know per se what had happened during the years Harry had spent with his maternal family, but he knew quite a lot about, at least, emotional neglect. He had lived it.

“Now, tell me the truth: have they ever beaten you?”

Harry's eyes went wide, but more in surprise than in fear of discovery. The young wizard hadn't had the slighest doubt about his godfather knowing he hadn't been happy, hell, Harry had been more than vocal about his dislike of the Dursleys, but he had never believed Sirius had even thought about that. After all, he was quite sure that if Sirius had ever had any shadow of a proof that something like that had happened, the Dursleys would not have even been granted a warning.

“Erm... not really?”

Seeing his godfather's jaws cringing dangerously, Harry thought he'd better hurry to explain himself. He didn't exactly want the Dursleys to suffer the most gruesome deaths, after all. The fright of their lives, maybe. And if Sirius could manage to throw them off the pedestal they had imagined for themselves, it would be great. They had been horrible, after all. Cruel, sometimes. But not completely rotten either.

“I mean, Aunt Petunia and Vernon never beat me. Vernon would threaten to do it, but he never actually did. The worst I ever got was to be locked up in the cupboard...”

Harry stopped there, observing nervously Sirius who was slowly turning his ring of lordship around his finger, as if to stop him from doing something much more... aggressive.

The teenager thought there were a few things he'd better mention as a by-the-way, just in case.

“And there was that time when they put bars on my window, then again it wasn't as if I could actually have gone out that way. Without the Weasleys' car, that is. It was more of a problem for Hedwig, but they had made me lock her up, so... And even when they told me to stay in the cupboard for one week or so, they didn't actually lock it. I'm pretty sure they knew I went out at night to get something to eat. They would scream at me if they saw me out, and they would threaten me some more, but they never really got to it.”

Now, if he didn't want his aunt, cousin and uncle to be killed by his godfather, the aunt Marge was another story... Obviously, killing her was still not a possibility, considering he didn't want Sirius to go back to Azkaban. But maiming her... Alright, just utterly destroying her life would do.

He'd have to get there at some point, even if Sirius had only asked about the Dursleys.

“As for aunt Petunia, well... She'd swing frying pans at me, but always when I was actually out of reach, and she'd make a point not to give me as much to eat as the others had, but she never said a thing when things disappeared from the kitchen at night. Of course, if I had taken more than necessary, she might have reconsidered, but I was cautious not to. She'd also make me work around the garden and the house, cleaning duty, breakfast and all that. Still, not in the cold or with truly dangerous things. I think it was more because she didn't want people to ask too many questions, but it doesn't change the fact I never got really hurt in Privet Drive because of the two of them...”

Sirius arched an eyebrow at that. He wasn't fooled, apparently, and he made it clear.

“And your cousin?”

Harry cringed. He had managed not to mention Dudley until then, but apparently it hadn't been meant to last.

“I guess you could say Dudley is a bully... but not only to me, though I was definitely his favorite punching ball until he learned I was a 'freak'. The other kids in the neighborhood, besides his cronies, of course, were just as afraid of him as I was. He's the biggest reason I never had friends for long. And there were a few times I got home with a bleeding nose or a bruise somewhere, but it never went past that.”

Sirius sighed.

“Alright... I won't resent Dudley Dursley too much, considering giving a bleeding nose or bruises was something I did a lot, alongside hexing people, when I was at Hogwarts. Still, it doesn't mean I stand for it. At least, I wasn't a bully... just a guy you really didn't want to anger, and you didn't want to see you doing something evil either.”

Herry wanted to object, thinking back to Snape's memory, but Sirius beat him to it.

“I know what you're going to say, Harry, but your father and me really weren't bullies. Prats, maybe, especially James, myself I was more the unexpected-and-painful-revenge type, but we never went after people without a reason. That doesn't make it right, maybe, but we always hexed people who deserved it... not taking into account the friendly joking spells, of course. You've seen Snape's memory of that particular time, but I assure you he never shied away from hexing one of us on sight either. There were a few times when I had to block dark curses from getting to James, Remus or even the rat, and they usually came from him. It was a good thing I was a Black, because I can't tell if Moony would still have both his eyes if not, and let's not speak of the time because of which you might not have been born.”

Harry was still a bit doubtful, but he had to admit Snape didn't do well in the role of the pure-hearted and innocent victim. People didn't become Death Eaters because they had been a bit roughly treated at school... well, sane people didn't, if anything. And no matter how much Harry hated Snape, he had to admit the wizard was certainly sane.

Saner than Sirius, actually.

“Now, back to your maternal family. If I understand this right, they never physically abused you, but they have verbally done so, and they threatened to get physical even if they never did. I don't count Dudley because he's a child, even if a horrible one. He became what he has been raised to be, and most of the times, it's hard to get out of the family shell. I'm sure you noticed during my trial, but even if I don't believe in blood purity and all that shit, I am still a cruel man with a moral compass that is pretty damaged.”

Harry wanted to argue, to say that yes, Sirius could do and say terrible things, but he only did that when it was necessary, and not for his own enjoyment, or because he thought it didn't matter, or because he thought it was his right. Sirius smiled, and didn't let him go on. He already knew all that, after all. It was the ony reason the animagus wasn't completely disgusted with himself.

“No need to defend me, I can do that just alright. And don't worry, even if my natural moral compass is shitty, I've made an artificial one as I grew up. Now, answer my question about abuse and neglect.”

Still unsure as to how someone could make up a moral compass, the teenager forced himself to go back to the topic at hand.

“Basically, yeah, it was more neglect than abuse. They surely made me feel unwanted.”

“So in the end, it was constant emotional neglect, that sometimes went as far as emotional abuse, and occasional physical neglect?”

“I suppose...”

Harry shifted on his seat, and Sirius looked at him with squinted eyes. There was something Harry wasn't saying, but it seemed as if the boy truly wanted to say it...

“Harry...”

“The Dursleys weren't so bad, but there was still Vernon's sister, Marge.”

Sirius listened silently as Harry told him how it always got worse when the horrid woman came to visit, but the silver of his eyes was glinting furiously. The fact that such an awful woman would breed dogs wasn't helping, and a vase exploded behind him when the teenager mentioned part of what the woman had said over the years, especially what concerned drowning weak puppies and insulting James and Lily. Sterhn immediately appeared and repaired the vase in silence before reminding his Master that the danger room was still operational, in case the Master still had much anger to release.

Harry tried to ask what exactly the danger room was, but Sirius ignored him, only saying that Marjorie Dursley might expect a visit from various competent authorities, just in case there were proofs of the treatment she inflicted upon the unlucky pups. And maybe they would find evidence about some other kind of offences... Harry chose not to ask.

When the conversation died out, Sirius felt he just had to direct it onto some other topic, much more light-hearted, and so they spoke of quidditch, of school, and finally, of Harry's fifth year. Unfortunately it hadn't been such a good year, and another vase exploded when the animagus saw the scar caused by Umbridge's Black Quill. Sterhn appeared again, and looked worriedly at his Master, who had a murderous smile on his face. Harry merely noted there was one more person on Sirius' Blacklist, and he didn't feel guilty at all to have made it longer.

Eventually Sirius sighed, and told Harry to make himself at home in the manor. Same as the other day, he could go around, but he'd rather be cautious with what he touched. Hopefully there wasn't any deadly trap that would be triggered by a half-blood walking on a certain part of the floor... though the Blak Lord wasn't sure about muggle-borns. He'd have to look into that with the portraits.

Just as the teenager was leaving the room, eager to explore this awesomely dangerous manor, Sirius called him one last time.

“Dumbledore will come tomorrow. He thought you could prove useful in recruiting Hogwarts' latest missing teacher, and I have to say I quite agree. If you don't mind, I'll come along. I'm sure my own presence will endear Slughorn to come back to teach at the castle all the more...”

The young Lord winced a bit, remembering the constant invitations to the Slug Club, and decided he would leave it a surprise for his godson, who, even if he had been absolutely dreadful in potions, was sure to get an invitation.

“Slughorn? Why would that teacher want to meet me before coming back to Hogwarts?”

“You'll see, you'll see...”

Sirius wasn't going to tell Harry everything. It wouldn't be fun if he did.

The door closed behind the teenager, and Sirius finally accepted the inevitable. He needed at least one glass of firewhisky. Tea wouldn't do at that point.

The animagus had to agree with Dumbledore. It could have been worse. Harry hadn't been loved by his family, and he had hardly been coddled, but he was alive, and in relative health. Vernon Dursley and Petunia had made more of a show to be awful people, than being actually awful. Sure, they hadn't been good to Harry. They hadn't been correct or neutral either. They had been bad, at times. But they had never been truly horrible, even if he was sure Petunia's husband prided himself in thinking he had. Threats, and no acts. For once, Sirius wasn't going to complain about someone not being up to what they pretended.

Himself, he hadn't had a wonderful childhood. His parents loved him, sure, even after his Sorting, but it didn't change the fact that they loved him badly. He had had to be perfect, always, without exception, and when he said perfect, he meant it in a very particular way. He had had to be the perfect prejudiced pureblooded slytherin boy, until he could become a true Slytherin. They hadn't hated him for being different, they had pitied him, and it was worse than being hated. They had searched for what was wrong with him, and they had tried to correct him, until they had given up.

Given up, and cried about it.

Sirius, their perfect son, who should have been just like Regulus, who was perfect too, even if in another way, because they were both their sons, and they loved the two of them! Sirius had only one flaw, and no matter what they had tried, Orion and Walburga Black had been unable to make him right. He was perfect. He could be cruel, was a natural at the Dark Arts, was powerful, was one of the twinless twins of the House of Black, even! He was clever, strong, and dangerous. He was cunning, and proud of who he was. He was a perfect Black! But he hadn't believed in the truth, and he had rejected them!

He was perfect, and they couldn't have him.

They had always loved him, and it was worse than being hated, because it made Sirius feel guilty about his choices. Feeling guilty about being in the right, when they couldn't even see they were in the wrong! What punishment was that?

Of course, with time, his mother's despair had turned into bitterness, then anger, then hatred. Walburga had always been a bit unstable, and she had gone too far in her angered attempts to get him back, too many times. She had tried to be gentle, then brutal, to punish and to reward. He had seen them all, all the ways his mother had tried. Sirius had left the house.

Still, he felt guilty about being right, and about being unable to open their eyes to the truth. He felt guilty for not being like them, for not being able to see the world like them. He had always felt that way. He had always felt guilty for not being able to live like them.

And their love had not been shown, because they were Blacks, and their anger had not been shown, because they were Blacks. It had been present enough so that he'd know he was loved, and for him to know he was hated, but not so much that he had felt it. It was cold, to grow up as a Black.

Still, despite everything, he still loved them. And if he couldn't look at them, it was because it hurt too much to remember how they had been unable to understand each other.

They were his family, and he couldn't have them.

“Family matters.”

A whisper, to no one.

The animagus would spend the next days dwelling on these facts, he just knew it. He hadn't had the time to, when in Azkaban, when on the run, when worried about Harry. Now, he wasn't in Azkaban, he wasn't on the run, and Harry was safe, at least for the time being. Now, as when he had been alone with his mother's portrait and Kreacher at Grimmauld, he remembered the hurt.

It was easier to say he hated his mother's insanity. It was easier to claim he despised his brother's choices. It was easier to pretend he wanted nothing to do with his family.

But now he had formally accepted to be Lord Black. He couldn't run away anymore.

The visit to Slughorn didn't help at all, unfortunately. Sirius had hoped that getting out of the manor for an hour or so would take his mind off things, and it succeeded. At first.

The young Black Lord snorted as he saw his old potions professor appear where only an armchair had been present a moment before, to Harry's great surprise. The old Slytherin had always been one for theatrics, and while Slughorn complained about having forgotten about the Dark Mark, Sirius mentally wondered if that meant the old wizard actually knew how to make it appear. The spell wasn't exactly common knowledge...

Still moping a little, Sirius paid little to no attention to the discussion between Dumbledore and Slughorn, and when the Headmaster left in search of the washroom, he only amused himself with the look on the potions master's face each time the old man couldn't keep his eyes away from Harry.

Slughorn had this habit of “collecting” people, after all, and the teenager surely was a great temptation. The fact that Harry's insanely famous godfather, Lord Black, and previous student of Slughorn was in the same room certainly was adding to the temptation. As soon as they had entered the house, Sirius had seen of a few wizarding newspapers, all of them with pictures of him on the front page. Before Azkaban, in Azkaban, and after Azkaban. The animagus wouldn't have minded betting that Slughorn was hardly keeping his comments to himself.

But the visit turned sour for Sirius when the potions professor eventually relented, and started telling Harry about the pictures of his old students. Lily was on one of those.

Regulus too.

Sirius was in a bad mood when they returned to Black Manor. Harry saw this, and went straight back to his room. Without an exact reason to, the older wizard went to the basement.

The sleeping figure of his brother wasn't represented in the deathbed anymore.

Regulus wasn't amongst the dead nor the dying anymore.

 


	23. Ticking clock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, reader, welcome to the grand story of the confrontation between Herry Potter and coldemort!  
> ...  
> No, really, it's awasome what I sometimes discover as I proofread a chapter.
> 
> Asides from that, you might notice in this chapter that I am deeply anti-Dumbledore bashing. It's easy to blame everything on him. I've read some things, in fics as well as in comments and reviews, it's terrible. Like, it's Dumbledore's fault that James and Lily died. Or Dumbledore knew about Sirius being a dummy, and still left him to rot in Azkaban. Or Dumbledore actually believes in the prophecy, when he himself state that the prophecy doesn't matter, what matters is that Voldemort believes it.  
> I mean, there are some things I can accept, such as Dumbledore heartless puppet master, or Dumbledoe going a bit crazy with age. I don't agree, but I can bear with it. But some things are just...
> 
> Also, lately I've been under the impression that I come up with a new side-story between each chapter. I really don't know how huge this Alternatives universe will be when it'd be finished. Dear me, If I finish it.

The room was dimly lit, with only one candle burning on the small dining table. Not much could be seen, so, and the starless night that filtered through the shutters wasn't helping much. Only the candle could really be seen, as well as a corner of the table, the newspapers that were on it, and the dancing shadows on the face of a man who was reading them.

Reading?

Not really, no. The man was only staring at the newspapers, as he did each time he hadn't something to do. Sometimes, his eyes would move from a word to a picture, or to a complete sentence. Then, he'd just twist his hands in anxiety.

A door slammed, and someone else entered the room, scowling at the anxious man as they lit up one of the lamp with their wand.

“As I've already told you, Pettigrew, the Dark Lord didn't lend you to me for you to stare at the newspapers. Do something useful, or at least make yourself scarce.”

Severus Snape glared at the animagus with such hatred that Peter would have probably wet himself, back in the days when he had never seen anyone more frightening than...

No. Sirius had always been incredibly terrifying, when he wanted to. Peter knew only one person who could really outdo his former friend, and it was the Dark Lord. But at the time, when the traitorous animagus had still been young and innocent, when he had yet had to meet the monster, Sirius' wrath had never been directed at him, so yes, he hadn't been used to what he was used to, now. Snape would have scared the hell out of him, if he had looked at him like that during their Hogwarts years. Actually, it had happened a few times over the year.

But now, Peter had seen Sirius' ire being directed at him, and, worst, he had met the Dark Lord. Snape's glare was unnerving, and of course he squirmed a bit, but he wasn't completely terrified.

Not anymore. Not by Snape, that is.

The Dark Lord seemed not to care for Poor Peter Pettigrew, and Poor Peter Pettigrew really was thankful for that. The least he saw the monster, the least he'd have to face the danger he was.

That still left Sirius.

And while Sirius wasn't as frightening as the Dark Lord, Peter would still run far, far away, if he meet him in the street. He'd even take Bellatrix Lestrange over Sirius, if he was given a choice, and if she had been alive. Now, the thing was, Bellatrix and Sirius came in a package, and whatever the reason and how-the-hell-had-Sirius-pulled-that-one?, it didn't motivate the animagus to be found any more than before her death. Quite the contrary, actually.

The newspapers were ripped from his hands, and Peter started out of his thoughts to stare stupidly at the potion master who was to be blamed for that.

Severus took a look at the page Pettigrew was completely absorbed in, quite certain of what he would see. It wasn't as if the rat had spent the last days staring at the same pages. The potion master snorted. Of course the traitor would be obsessed with that.

“Throw these away. I don't want to see your old buddy's face anywhere in my house, Pettigrew.”

The rat choked at the mention of his and Black's old friendship. Quite a change from the time when the mutt used to protect the rat from the mean and evil Slytherins, eh? Now Pettigrew was hiding on the mean and evil Slytherins' side, and his old protector wanted his hide so much that he might just kill him on sight, no matter the laws, no matter the memories, if they happened to meet.

“Oh quit it. Black has better things to do than to look for you. In case you hadn't noticed, the Black Lord would very much like for his godson not to have to deal with our Master. You, rat, are only a secondary issue to be dealt with in his mind.”

Though the mutt would surely welcome the opportunity to have his revenge, if it was offered to him. Now that was an idea...

Severus fetched some potions, and went back to the front door.

“Make yourself useful, and clean the kitchen.”

Peter started once again when the lights went out, leaving him in near obscurity. The light from the candle was ominously letting the large picture of Sirius Black be seen, and only that picture.

Peter shivered, as the cold eyes of his former friend swept through the public, and onto him.

As for the potion master, he was by now making his way towards Hogwarts, having apparated as soon as no muggle had been in sight. Dumbledore had asked to see him, out of any Order business, and it had seemed quite urgent.

Severus shaked the thought of Pettigrew out of his mind. The things he had accepted to do, both for Dumbledore and for the Dark Lord! Harboring the traitor who had caused Lily's death... only one of these things, and since it was on the Dark Lord order's, he couldn't say no. The Dark Lord believed he had finally gotten over it, after all.

As if he could ever get over Lily's death.

It being the summer holidays, the castle was completely empty, except for the house-elves, the ghosts... and that annoying poltergeist, Severus remembered as a bucket of water fell on his head, followed by the recognizable cackle of the culprit.

“Peeves!!!”

“ _Aha! Snivellus is snivelling so much he's completely soaked! Snivelly Snivellus is snivelling!”_

The wizard spun on his heels, wand in hand, and a stunner exploded against a wall, not far from where the voice of the poltergeist had come. But Peeves was already far away.

Severus glared hatefully in the direction of the poltergeist, as he managed to get rid of most of the water with a flick of his wand. Most of it, because what had been imbibed in his cloath already would not come out. After a drying charm, the potion master felt better, as if nothing had happened... though his appearance said the contrary.

One day, he'd get that Poltergeist.

The wizard looked more angry than ever when he passed the door to Dumbledore's office, only to find there a Headmaster who looked to be only one breath away from death. Severus' anger at the poltergeist disappeared immediately. He started his work, without asking questions that weren't relevant to the curse suffered, his eyes only darting from time to time to the origin of the curse, a cracked ring laying next to Gryffindor's sword on the Headmaster's desk.

When he was finally confident that he had done all that could be done, and even that was far from satisfying, Severus tried to understand how exactly this curse had come to be. But Dumbledore would not answer, and all he managed to learn was through the deep hurt in the old wizard's eyes.

It was a pain the potion master knew very well. The kind of pain that came against one's will, making them think back, again and again, to the worst moments of their lives. To the wrong decisions which had been taken, to the deaths of loved ones, to the times of despair. The Dark Lord tended to use legilimency like that, when he wanted to make sure of his followers' loyalty, or just to punish them for failure. Dementors, too, had that effect, though when there were more than two or three, it got way worse than even what the Dark Lord's legilimency could do.

For Dumbledore, Severus guessed it had to do with the ring... even if he didn't understand how it related to the curse he could see on the ring.

Eventually the conversation switched to the fate of the young Draco Malfoy, and how the mission given to the teenager by the Dark Lord was more of a revenge over Lucius' failure than anything else. Torturing an adult was one thing, but doing this to a teen, even more so one who was on their side, it really made Severus wonder what he had seen, once upon a time, in Lord Voldemort.

The mad cackle of Peeves was heard just as they finished the conversation, not far below Dumbledore's tower, and the potion master frowned, listening.

“ _Seriously insane he is, Sirius Black! Bad temper, bloody insanity, dark power, he is a monst...”_

But the cackle was soon interrupted by a loud sound, followed by Peeves cursing aloud... and by the diminishing sound of his voice, flying away.

Dumbledore glanced sadly at his now blackened arm, but smiled.

“Ah, right. It was this evening that we were meant to meet. Maybe you'll want to leave before he comes, Severus. As I understand, your relationship is as strained as ever.”

The younger wizard sneered a bit, but made to leave, hopping against hope that Black was currently running behind Peeves for payback and that they wouldn't have to cross path.

Of course, this particular chain of events had not happened, and they met before the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's stairs.

The two wizards stared at one another for a good ten seconds, features perfectly schooled not to let anything be seen. Severus noticed that Black wasn't sporting any remnants of his encounter with Peeves, while Sirius had to refrain from smirking at the previously soaked looks of Snape.

Eventually Sirius simply stepped aside, letting his school nemesis pass.

The young Lord finally stepped in Dumbledore's office, and his eyes, pretty much like Snape's had done, zeroed on the old wizard's hand.

A disturbing wince appeared on his handsome features, and his eyes moved quickly to the cursed ring on Dumbledore's desk. Sirius walked to the desk, and lifted the ring with his dagger, careful not to touch it. The curse on it was so dark that for someone like him, it was plainly visible.

“I guess that explains his presence, then.”

“Indeed it does.”

Dumbledore offered a seat to the young Lord, who sat down, barely refraining from staring at the shrivelled hand. This was definitely not a good thing, for the old wizard, for the war effort, for the Order of the Phoenix, for Harry, and for the wizarding world in general. If the only wizard who positively scared Voldepants had a ticking clock above his head... or his hand, for the matter, they were in deep shit.

“How much time?”

Albus smiled genially, not surprised that Sirius knew so much from a simple glance. The Blacks were dark wizards, if not in acts, at least by birth and in the font of their power. Even Sirius, who didn't meddle with the Dark Arts when he had a choice, was as good an expert as any dark wizard of choice. The fact that he was a genius with a very good memory tended to make him one of the more knowledgeable people in dark magic of his age.

“Severus can't tell for sure, but his restrictions might hold for one year or so.”

Sirius snorted at the simple mention of the potion master, but said nothing. He trusted, if not the wizard, at least the wizard's opinion on the matter.

“And I suppose asking for Voldemort to die of a stroke before then is asking for too much?”

A wan smile appeared on the Headmaster's face.

“That is one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you and Remus, Sirius. He should not be long, now, so I would like for this subject to wait a bit, so that we can speak of what is only your concern.”

There was a silence, which was broken by Albus once again.

“I was informed dear Bellatrix came here with you, but I do not see her?”

Sirius smiled contently, remembering the shock on Peeves face when the poltergeist had noticed he wasn't alone.

“I left her to play with Peeves.”

Amusement flickered on the Headmaster's face, but soon enough he looked grave again.

“That explains much. And I believe it is for the best, considering what I have to say.”

In a few words, the old wizard spoke of the mission given to Draco Malfoy, and how, given his current situation, the Headmaster could see no reason not to indulge the boy and let him save his life, since Dumbledore was deemed to die anyway. The news weren't much to Sirius' liking, but unless he intended to kidnap his young cousin and hold him in Black Manor, he couldn't see a way to stop the Dark Bastard from threatening the teenager's life. Moreover, the child was simply completely brainwashed, even worse than Narcissa at his age, so he couldn't do anything... yet.

“So that's what Narcissa was hiding. Bella thought it was likely to be something like that, but killing you of all people... Neither I nor her would have guessed.”

Albus wasn't surprised to hear that the Blacks had guessed something was going on. Sirius was too clever not to notice, Bellatrix was too used to Tom's ways not to suspect, and Andromeda was too caring for her family not to see. Narcissa Malfoy had clearly been distraught, during Sirius' trial, even if it might not have been obvious to someone who knew her less than her family, or who wasn't as observant as the old wizard.

“If you find a way to get him out of it, Sirius, please do, but do not act rashly. If I am still here by then, please talk to me too. As much as I dislike it, we can't just give up on getting rid of Voldemort for a teenager who is, for now, more than happy with his fate.”

Sirius cringed at the statement, but he knew it to be true. And he was quite certain that, if Dumbledore hadn't been one of the figures of authority concerning the fight against Voldemort, the old wizard would have allowed himself to look as unhappy as him. But Albus Dumbledore couldn't afford to be sentimental, and he couldn't afford to let it show when he was, because if he faltered, people would be scared.

And Sirius knew it too well: this was a war.

During a war, people died. Some could not be saved, and it wasn't always possible to offer enough time for one to decide between evil and redemption. Doing so might mean sacrificing other people in the process. And while every lives mattered, and no life could be deemed worth a price, sacrificing one for saving one, wasn't it just that, putting a cost on the sacrificed's life?

No war could be won without deaths, and every defeat would mean deaths in this particular war. Even surrendering would have a cost which wasn't honor. So there was nothing to do, except fight.

People would die this time too, and maybe, no, surely, some of them would be amongst Sirius' acquaintances. Maybe even amonsgt his friends.

He didn't have to be happy about it, but he had to accept it.

And he had accepted it long ago.

How difficult might it be, to be Albus Dumbledore? Not to be allowed to falter, not to be allowed to show his distate with his own decisions? Knowing he would be blamed for the deaths he would not be able to avoid, if only by some?

A heartless laugh escaped from Sirius' throat.

Oh, he knew the feeling.

Choosing between the bad, the worse and the worst, with everyone forgetting that there wasn't any good option. He knew the feeling, truly, of being held accountable for everything that had gone wrong. Of being the hero, and then the scapegoat.

So he changed the subject. It wasn't as if there was anything else to be said about Draco Malfoy, anyway.

Unable to maintain eye contact with the Headmaster as he thought once again of the person he was going to ask about, his gaze wandered at the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black, who, for appareances' sake, glared at him haughtily.

“Do you know anything of Juliet, Headmaster?”

The old's wizard's expression softened at the inquiry, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

“I believe I have already asked you to call me Albus, Sirius. I am not your Headmaster anymore, am I?”

The young Lord grumbled, as he sank in his armchair.

“Habit, Albus, it's hard to break. But what about Juliet?”

Albus' eyes twinkled, and once again Sirius thought he'd rather not have asked. But those last two years, he had delayed the question again and again, and now that he was legally free, he had no excuse. Even if he feared her reaction to his silence, now that it was known he had done nothing.

“Do you want a complete report of her scolarity, and the years after that, or do you only wish to know if she hates you as much as the fact that she has not replied to any of your letters seems to point out?”

“Both, I guess.”

The fact that he hadn't escaped from Azkaban before having seen Peter on the Daily Prophet was incriminating enough, both towards Harry and towards Juliet. Sure, it was safer for Harry to live with the Dursleys, if only for the blood protection, considering that Sirius, being on the run, wouldn't have had access to the protections of the Black domains, and Juliet... Juliet had had only him left, and he hadn't even given a second thought about escaping, after having considered the girl was better off without him.

Sirius wouldn't be surprised if she hated him even more now that she knew him to be innocent, and that he still hadn't come for her.

Dumbledore rose from his seat, and grabbed a thin book of leather. Its pages were blank when he opened it, but a simple tap of his wand covered them in various handwritings. The old wizard looked through it absently as he started speaking.

“As I am sure you know, your grandfather Lord Arcturus Black accepted to be the legal guardian of Juliet Nina Black the day after your imprisonment. He wasn't delighted with the idea, but considering the other choices were your mother, who was utterly disgusted by Juliet's muggle heritage, and your other grandfather Pollux, who simply refused to admit the girl even existed, Arcturus was still a better guardian. I heard he eventually grew quite fond of Juliet, even if he deplored that she wasn't a pureblood. Her childhood might not have been the best, but he took care of her, and he loved her, in his own twisted way, I'm sure, or else he wouldn't have cared so much about her nightmares.”

Albus put the book down on his desk, turned towards Sirius, but the young wizard had his eyes closed, remembering the scene of Juliet's nightmares.

The blood that covered the floor of the little house. Her mother's blond hair turning red as it soaked that blood. The screams. The dead, and the wounded. Her whole family amongst both of these categories. And him, standing here, with his hand descending to her five-years-old self, him, taking her in his arms, despite the blood he was covered with, despite what he had had to do before her very eyes. Her, hanging on him as if it would erase the nightmare...

“She still has those.”

Sirius opened his eyes, and sought Dumbledore's.

“This kind of things never really goes away, Sirius, and you know that better than anyone.”

He looked away. It wasn't the same for him. When he said he was insane, he wasn't exagerating. Sure, he had the nightmares, but while they weren't pleasant, they weren't much more than dreams to him. He wasn't bothered by death, blood, and suffering, unless in the way it affected people. The things in themselves had never bothered him.

Not like they certainly were bothering Juliet.

“But I've been told it is not as terrible anymore.”

Sirius said nothing. He could only hope Juliet's nightmares weren't as terrible as before. He could only hope that she didn't need his presence to fall asleep anymore, because he hadn't been there to keep the nightmares away.

So he looked at the leather book.

The first page had the name “Juliet Nina Black” on it, seven pictures of a teenager, from eleven to seventeen, one for each beginning year, as well as the House the child had been Sorted in, with the name of the Head of House.

Juliet had grown into a pretty girl with huge brown eyes, long lashes, raven black curly hair, and a turned up nose. She really looked innocent on these pictures, and for some reason, the young Lord doubted it was truly the case.

“She ended up with Snivellus as a Head of House?”

“Sirius...”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Professor Snape. He didn't publicly begrudge her, I hope? Not like Harry?”

“The fact that Juliet does not look like you might have played a role in that, even if she behaved strangely like you. In third year, she broke a sixth year's nose after he spoke badly of you.”

Sirius looked up from the book, a startled look on his face.

“She defended me?”

Amused, Albus smiled kindly at the young wizard.

“It truly worried me, at the time, considering I thought you guilty, but she was right on at least one thing: no matter what you had done afterwards, it couldn't change what you had done before. You saved many muggleborns, and you are the only reason she is alive. Juliet didn't want to forget who you were before you... changed, as she told me at the time.”

The Headmaster stayed silent for a few seconds, before adding a last thought.

“Just like Remus, Andromeda and many others who knew you, Juliet believed that, at least, the Sirius Black she had known wasn't a lie. That, maybe, something had been done to you, that you had lost your mind. She refused to deny the man you had been, even if it meant this man had been killed when another Sirius Black came out, supporting Lord Voldemort.”

The old wizard did not turn to look at Sirius as he finished this sentence, and the young wizard was grateful for that. He didn't want Dumbledore to see the tears, rare though they be, rolling down his cheeks.

Sirius spent the next few minutes looking through Juliet's school records, as they were waiting for Remus to arrive.

Juliet had gotten ten O.W.L.s, amongst which two outstandings and four exceeds expectations. She had continued Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Astronomy, Defence against the Dark Arts and Study of Ancient Runes in sixth year, and had gotten into the Alchemy class. Her N.E.W.T.s were outstandings in Transfiguration, Astronomy, Study of Ancient Runes and Alchemy, and exceeds expectations for the three other classes. Nothing to be ashamed of, really. The fact that her number of detentions was strangely non-existent for the fifth and seventh years seemed to indicate that she really could control her temper, and just didn't bother to the rest of the time.

Even Snape had found difficulty in being a prat in his yearly reports.

Dumbledore informed that, as for the three last years, the owls seemed to be unable to locate Juliet, which explained why she wasn't answering Sirius' letters. She had probably written herself off the owling lists, making her impossible to contact except by official owls from the Ministry, when he had escaped from Azkaban, not willing to receive more death threats or insults.

“But even if she did, I don't reckon she will be able to ignore the news of your acquittal for long. No matter where she is now, she will, if she has not already, hear of it.”

The Headmaster didn't finish that thought, Sirius noticed, and the young Lord couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, Juliet wouldn't want to see him, no matter that he had been acquitted. After all, he hadn't been here for her.

Dumbledore suddenly turned to look at the door of his office.

Sirius closed the book, and not one minute latter, the door opened to reveal a weary Remus Lupin.

The werewolf glanced at his best friend, and saluted them politely. He went to sit next to Sirius, tactfully ignoring the salted streaks on hos friend's cheeks, but he couldn't refrain from flinching at the sight of the old wizard's hand.

“I ran into Bellatrix downstairs. Apparently she was discussing the perks and the disadvantages of being a ghost with a group of such people. But I could clearly hear Peeves' outraged screams. Mind to tell what happened?”

Sirius smiled innocently at his friend. After all, he trully didn't know what exactly Bella had been up to since he had left her to deal with the poltergeist.

“No idea. But I do know that my cousin doesn't have many pleasant memories of her school years involving our dear poltergeist.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, clearly thinking that no student ever had pleasant memories of Peeves.

After what he turned to look at Dumbledore.

“You wished to see us, Albus?”

Albus sat back on his seat as he nodded.

“Indeed I did. Things have... changed since I reformed the Order, and some new elements have to be taken into account in our fight for equality. I hesitated quite a bit before finally deciding to share some of my knowledge with the two of you... which means some of my burden too.”

Remus' eyes went back to the shrivelled hand, before noticing the cracked ring on the desk. He frowned, more and more worried as he could sense a remnant of dark magic on it, when he realized that it was what had caused the curse.

“Does it have anything to do with the state of your hand?”

Albus smiled faintly at the werewolf. The Black Lord and him might have a chance at changing a few things, if not at erasing the problem altogether. Albus himself was already busy enough with the Order and his duty as Headmaster, and if he'd do what he could, his time would still be scarce, not even taking into account that he had only one year or so left to live.

“It does. But let me begin from the start, and you will ask questions, if you have some, later. Doing another way would be too... complicated, I fear.”

The two younger wizards nodded their agreement, and so started the story... Sort of.

“I want you two to remember that I do not know for sure many things. Still, some of my assumptions are plausible enough that I made my mind to work on Voldemort's downfall based on these. If you have any ideas, feel free to mention them.”

And so Albus talked of Tom Riddle's origins, last descendant of Slytherin, and first of mixed blood. Son of a muggle who ignored him, and of a witch who let herself die of despair. Child who grew up in an orphanage, and soon decided to use his peculiar talents to scare and control the other children. Teenager who breezed his way into Slytherin, murdered Myrtle Warren, and gave live to the Walpurgis Knights. Man who disappeared, taking strange jobs, collecting dubious artifacts, and learning dark magicks of all sorts. Person who took the name of Voldemort, applied for the job of teacher of Defence against the Dark Arts, and jinxed the position. Madman who created the Death Eaters, seduced the ancient families, and started a war. Tyrant who instigated betrayals, heard of a phophecy, and was felled by a baby.

Some of these things, Remus and Sirius had both known. Some others they hadn't. They shared a glance when they realized that Voldemort might have become their professor, had Dumbledore not refused him the job. Sirius grumbled something rude about not having helped the school by murdering Myrtle, but his heart wasn't in his joke. Remus frowned as he wondered why exactly Tom Riddle had been collecting the founders' possessions.

Finally Dumbledore turned to Sirius, and asked for his permission to show the memories pertaining to these facts and theories to Harry during the following year. The teenager might need the knowlegde when Voldemort would come after him once again, something that the three of them knew would happen.

Like it or not, the Dark Bastard believed Harry to be the one who could become his nemesis, and even if they tried to stand in the way, he'd find a trick to get to Harry, in the end. The most they could do was to ensure that it wouldn't be easy for Voldepants to get there, and that Harry would have the best chances when it'd happen.

So Sirius agreed. He still hoped that maybe, they might get rid of the Dark Bastard before he could get to his godson, but it couldn't hurt to prepare the teenager. Believing Voldepants would never beat them to it just because they wished it to be so, and saying that children had no place in a war was pretty and all, but it wouldn't change the fact that the teenagers too got caught up in it.

“I will let you take a look at the memories I have collected over the years, for you might notice something I missed, but not tonight. It would take too much time, I am afraid, and I still have some things to talk to you two about.”

Albus took a time to look the two young wizards in the eyes before continuing. His electric blue eyes first met Remus' kind and green ones, before moving onto Sirius' cold and silver ones. He could see determination, as well as some fear, much pain, and quite some courage for both, but Remus' were more forgiving, while Sirius' were less humane.

They hadn't really changed, from their school years. Evolved, surely, but not changed. Remus seemed less ashamed of himself, and more able to take in the pain of others. His own pain had diminished a bit, or maybe it was that the werewolf had known so much of it it no longer affected him as much. Sirius wasn't trying to please anymore, even if it hadn't been his topmost goal back then, and he had learned there was no need trying to be someone else; those who didn't like him had no business judging him, and that was all. Strangely enough, the young Lord of the House of Black had grown colder, and yet more willing to accept others.

Albus almost laughed at himself, for not having been able to change in all these years.

A genius, maybe, but still as blinded as ever.

Well, the world would have to do with him as he was. He couldn't propose better.

So, turning to Sirius, because it was really the man's survival and his newfound freedom that had changed the game so much, Albus Dumbledore talked.

“I did not deem it safe to speak of it with you beforehand, because you have to admit, being confined in a place, unable to act, perhaps was for your own good, but it also made you more foolhardy than brave.”

Sirius snorted at the understatement.

“One of my biggest flaws: staying in the same place and not having a shread of control over my destiny make an idiot out of me. It killed me, this time.”

Apparently relieved that he agreed with him, the Headmaster then turned to Remus.

“As for you, I did not want to speak of it for two reasons: firstly, you would have tattled to Sirius, which is perfectly understandable, but would have been too dangerous for him; secondly, you were the only person we could use as a spy amongst the werewolves, and it is never a good idea for a spy to know too much. But considering that Sirius is now free, and you are openly his best friend, your role as a spy is more than impossible now.”

Remus, who had blushed a bit at the very true assumption of his probable tattling, went pale as he realized he truly couldn't be of use as a werewolf now. Albus saw this, and raised a hand to pacify him.

“Everything is not lost, however, and if you agree, I would like for you to contact the werewolves you know to be neutral, or even on our side mentally speaking. It might be safer for them to join Greyback now that he started working for Voldemort again, but you could still offer them to spy for us... and if they agree, we might even manage to make enough wolfsbane potion for all those who works for us so that they don't have to hurt innocents during the full moons. Considering the other werewolves would be too mad during the change to notice the oddity, it wouldn't even be dangerous as long as they pretend afterwards”

“That's... actually a good idea. If they are cautious enough, and also a bit brave, they could even oppose the worst actions, and pretend it's only their wolf-self refusing Greyback's authority, if they don't do it too often...”

The two decided to think back on that idea later on, and the Headmaster finaly got to the gist of this meeting.

Albus pushed the Gaunt ring towards them with his wand, advising not to touch it, though a bit unnecessarily. The way Sirius was eyeing the jewellery told enough for Remus to keep away, and if it hadn't been enough, he could just sense the evil in it.

The two young wizards looked at it for a moment, before looking back at Dumbledore.

The old wizard's face had turned grim.

“Do you know about horcruxes?”

Remus frowned, sure to have at least read the name somewhere, but unable to say more than that.

Sirius, on the other hand, twisted his joined hands in a way that made most of his joints crack. Remus cringed at the sound, and looked at his friend, to find the corner of his mouth twitching like mad. It wasn't everyday that something disturbed him that much.

Albus, still keeping his face as calm as possible, looked at the Black Lord, encouraging him to speak.

Sirius laughed dryly, his eyes darting between the ring and the sword of Gryffindor.

“I might not have known, if I hadn't been born a heir to the House of Black, but I do. To create a horcrux is an act of such dark magic that it rivals the Reciprocation curse itself. Few are the authors who dare to speak of it, because no one wishes to imagine that someone would want to make one. Of course, my family, being how it is, has these few books in the Manor's library. They aren't even in the other houses' libraries.”

Sirius took a deep breath, remembering the similarities between his new body and Voldemort's, before the madman had lost it and had to create one from nothing. The pallor. The shadows under the eyes. And the way he felt there was something slightly wrong when he looked at himself in a mirror...

Even before the monster's first fall, even when Voldemort's body had still been the one he had been born with, the madman had looked way worse than Sirius did now, though. It reassured him. A bit.

“To create a horcrux, one has to murder someone, which parts the soul into two pieces. Usually, the soul heals after some time, even if a mark remains. But the creation of a horcrux uses the partition of the soul to take out one of the pieces and put it into an object. That is a horcrux: a recipient for a piece of soul, nearly indestructible, and which allows one to remain alive even if they are killed.”

Dumbledore's office suddenly felt oppressing to Remus, and he couldn't ignore the way the portraits of the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts were whispering amongst themselves and the slight tremor that shook Sirius' hands as his best friend spoke of such abomination.

The werewolf's own voice seemed to creak when he himself spoke.

“This is what Voldemort did, isn't it?”

Albus nodded, but looked back to Sirius, who had not finished.

The young Lord had to force himself to look at the ring on the desk before him.

“The Black Reciprocation curse is an act of terribly dark magic, and I used it only because I knew myself to be immune to its mental effect, and because the life it takes to save the caster is the one of their murderer. Still, it's worse than even the killing curse, which is an Unforgivable, because it doesn't only kill, but it also uses the death it created. There is no respect left into the act of killing, not that there was much to begin with. Still, it uses the death of a murderer. But the creation of a horcrux... It uses just any death.”

Sirius knew that what he had done was terrible, and that he didn't care. He also knew what it said about him. But him, at least, would not stoop so low as to kill uncritically.

“But Albus, you spoke of 'horcruxes'. Has he... Has he made more than one?”

It would explain why the Dark Bastard had been in such a state, even before his man-made body.

“He has. This was one...”

The Headmaster gestured to the cracked ring.

“...and I destroyed it with the basilisk venom that was taken in by the sword of Gryffindor when Harry killed the Serpent of Slytherin. There was also a diary that Tom created rather... inadvertantly when he killed Myrtle Warren. Harry destroyed that one with a basilisk fang. Two horcruxes confirmed, and destroyed so far, but I fear Lord Voldemort made more than these two. I still do not know how many exactly, however, but I am working on acquiring more memories in hope of discovering how many he made. I suspect he might have turned Hufflepuff's cup into one, as well as Slytherin's locket. Tom is also suspisciously close to his snake Nagini, but I would need to examine it, or at least some traces of it, to make sure. Maybe there are others, I don't know. And of course, we ignore where they are hidden, except for the snake.”

There Albus stopped, knowing that what he was about to say now wasn't to be taken lightly.

“There is yet another horcrux that I know of...”

But acting as if it wasn't true wouldn't make it false.

The Headmaster looked Sirius in the eyes, as if to dare the younger wizard to accuse him of lying. As if he knew that Sirius would need a proof of his sincerity.

“Harry is a horcrux.”

Both Sirius and Remus paled terribly at this.

If Harry was a horcrux, then it meant that Harry needed to die. Because if they decided not to let him die, Voldemort would not die either, and he would eventually kill Harry.

Remus sank in his armchair, shaking slightly.

“Voldemort's soul was so shattered, so broken when the killing curse bounced back with Lily's sacrifice, that a part of it attached itself to Harry, right? That's why he has a mental connection to Voldemort, that's why he is a parselmouth.”

The silence that followed was deep and ominous, and it was Sirius wo eventually broke it.

“I accept to work with you towards this end, as long as Harry does not have to know about this until it's time for him to die. I suppose you called us not only to share this knowledge and this quest in search of Voldemort's horcruxes, but to search for a way to allow him to survive?”

Sirius felt like he wasn't the one saying those cold and detached words as he spoke, but it didn't matter. The truth never cared about the feelings of the people concerned, after all.

Albus sighed before giving an answer.

“I think there might be a way, but it isn't possible to know if it will work until it happens. With you two, maybe we will be able to find something more... certain. But we will speak of it another day.”

Remus and Sirius left Hogwarts in silence, Bella following her cousin with worry.

When the Black Lord entered his domain, he immediately called for Sterhn to open the danger room. The house-elf snapped his fingers, and a black ark appeared.

Sirius walked through it, shadows dancing around him, and the grass dying away under his feet.

 


	24. Pureblooded renegades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not easy to put just the right amount of hints... Especially when I don't know what is the right amount of hints.  
> Maybe when the reader it might be that answer, but then again, it could be another one, though they are convinced it's that one?
> 
> And I have new doodles about this story here:  
> http://alviola.deviantart.com/art/coups-de-crayons-Unclaimed-Darkness-2-609337038?ga_submit_new=10%253A1463397092  
> http://alviola.deviantart.com/art/Coups-de-crayons-Unclaimed-Darkness-589821892  
> Of course, they could be slightly... spoiling. Look at your own risks, and don't assume too much from these doodles.

Sirius strolled down a London street, searching for the bar Eleanor had mentioned. It was a hot thursday, in the end of July, and he had just taken part in a battle with a dozen of Death Eaters in Cardiff. Harry was safely at the Weasleys', for the Black Lord trusted Molly Weasley to take good care of him while he and Arthur were off defending the people, even if the witch wasn't his favorite person.

The Death Eaters attack had been swift. The members of the Order who had reacted to the attack had gone back home, and a few others had joined Tonks behind the other Aurors' back to try and discover what Voldemort had wanted with this attack. Only two people had been killed, and the Death Eaters had retreated too quickly, so it wasn't a maneuver of terror. It was something else.

What, no one knew for now, but it was often the case. Reason why the Order was investigating, behind the Ministry's back, obviously. Sirius was one of the rare public members of the Order of the Phoenix, because he could handle an attack, and because he was a prime target anyway. The others had to keep at least some anonymity. It wasn't easy, considering it also meant that each time the Aurors arrived, they had to end the fight unless they had a reason to be here, else than having been warned by a third party. Days like today, the Order usually kept to investigating, and making sure the fights didn't go out of a certain perimeter, letting the Aurors handle it as long as possible.

So Sirius wasn't exactly tired. Having gone public and all that, he could have just entered the battle, but some people were still whispering about him, and he certainly didn't want to get targeted by both the Aurors and the Death Eaters, you know, because he was a questionable individual.

This thursday, he had had the occasion to curse a Death Eater who had tried to go out of the fighting perimeter, while the Aurors were looking somewhere else, and the two had started a good battle, but not two minutes into their duel, the anti-apparition wards had gone off, and his opponent had left.

Sirius wasn't tired, and so had seen no reason to postpone the rendez-vous he had with Armand Malfoy and Alexander White, with the assistance of Eleanor Rowle, who was a friend of the Malfoy squib. Scrimgeour having started his changes inside the Muggle Liaison Office, and Kingsley having deemed the two possible contacts, Sirius had been tasked to speak to them, and Eleanor had offered to arrange a meeting in a muggle bar.

This rendez-vous had been set in exactly twelve minutes.

Here he was, in muggle London, wearing muggle clothes, a black suit not unlike the one he had worn to go to Privet Drive, but less ostentatious, too. Sirius didn't want to be spotted and followed, after all. This time, he wore clothes of good quality, yes, but more discreet.

Sirius finally found the muggle bar he was searching for, and entered the building. It was perfectly normal, barely noticeable, and definitely not a place where someone would be looking for the Lord of the House of Black. Eleanor had chosen well.

The wizard saw long blond hair tied in a braid in a corner of the bar, and a smile moved his lips. He walked to the young woman with a braid, and was pleased to see he hadn't been wrong.

Eleanor Rowle smiled at him, and offered him to take a seat. She had ordered a non-alcoholic drink for herself, and a whisky for him. Sirius really didn't know how she already knew him so well, but he certainly wasn't going to complain.

“Hello, Sirius. You have blood on your left sleeve.”

The young Lord looked at the sleeve of his white shirt, and indeed, there was a small red spot next to one of the buttons. He cursed under his breath, but his smile stayed. Making sure no one was looking, he reached for his wand, in a secret pocket on the side of his pants, and cast a small glamour. Spelling blood away was a bit long to do, and if he rushed too much, he risked to make it worse. He'd take care of it later.

“Sorry about that. There was an attack in Cardiff one hour ago, and I caught one of the attackers trying to sneak out of the battle field. I didn't have the time to change.”

Eleanor's smile grew a bit larger. With her, it always seemed to him that things were normal. Even war. Even blood. Even death. It was refreshing.

To Sirius, there wasn't anything shocking with death or blood in themselves, though he wasn't approving murders or hurting people, but he still had to consider the reactions of the others. Eleanor didn't need him to be considerate with these things, and he was grateful for that. She wasn't like him, no. There was no darkness in the young woman, no madness either. But she wasn't asking him to pretend, and that was enough.

“You're alright?”

“A small cutting hex nicked my finger, but it wasn't anything nasty. It won't even scar.”

“Can I see?”

Sirius gave her his hand, and indeed, nothing was left to see of his minor injury. Eleanor turned his hand with her owns to verify he wasn't lying, and the contact between their skin was warm and soft.

The witch looked at her watch.

“They shouldn't be long, now. They're having a break right now, just the time for them to get here.”

She looked around, but White and Armand weren't there yet. She shrugged, and looked back at Sirius, right into his silver eyes.

The wizard was so fascinating, she simply couldn't help but admire him. For the feats he had accomplished. For the stances he had been adamant to defend. For the kindness she could see in his gaze alongside the harshness.

She remembered too well, her first year at Hogwarts. He had been someone in the school, back then. Not popular as James Potter, whom everyone, minus the blood extremist Slytherins, liked. But he had been popular in another way. He had been this figure, far away, of greatness, handsome, clever, and powerful; and at the same time, slightly frightening, not unfair, but severe and grim.

He had helped her, when half of her House bullied her, and the other half was afraid of being shunned if they stepped up for her. He hadn't been her friend, no, but he had helped her when no one else did.

He was far from perfect, Eleanor was aware of that. Whereas he had been gifted with power, intelligence and good looks, he was lacking in compassion and perhaps even humanity. She wasn't sure why. It made him a dangerous person. But he had chosen to make the most of what he had been given, and that was as much as could be asked from him.

Or from anyone, really.

“Tell me about Armand Malfoy, since you know him personally, please.”

Eleanor grew thoughtful.

“Armand's parents guessed he might be a Squib when, at eight, he still hadn't made any accidental magic. Then, it went downhill for him. His father and his mother still loved him, but they grew sad, and that was the bright side of the family. Abraxas Malfoy was the Lord of their House, in that time, and whenever he visited his brother, he would disregard Armand. His son, Lucius, and Armand were always the subjects of unfair comparisons, even more so that Lucius Malfoy was already out of Hogwarts. Then Armand didn't receive an Hogwarts letter, and it was official. He was a Squib. No one talked about him in public, and he was sent to a muggle boarding school.”

Eleanor took a sip of her iced tea, and stared out the window, remembering her meeting with the Malfoy squib.

“I was fourteen when I met him, and really, it was more hazardous than anything. My family had gone to Oxford for the summer holidays, and that was where he went to school. I immediately recognized his family name, of course, and he asked me about Hogwarts. In exchange, he told me about muggle education, and how he was doing his best in school, so that his parents wouldn't be able to coplain, even if they wouldn't be proud either. He hoped he could get as far in life as possible, and that, without the Malfoys backing him up. He wanted to prove to them he didn't need them, even if Abraxas Malfoy always said he was a waste of space.”

Then Eleanor saw the distinctive pale blond hair of the Malfoys amongst the group of people who had just entered the bar. She smiled, and stood up to wave at her friend. Soon, him and a man with outrageously red hair joined the witch and the wizard.

Sirius actually blinked at the man's hair. He hadn't seen hair this red since long. Since Lily, in fact. The Weasleys were all red-headed, but Lily and this man had dark red hair, that almost seemed... Well, like, actual red. Scarlet. And this man not only had red hair, but he had red hair that defied the law of gravity, without magic. It should be a crime to have such hair. It was as if the man was begging to be noticed in a crowd, without actually doing anything for that to happen.

Eleanor stood up and trapped her friend in a gentle hug. Then she turned to Sirius, and smiled again, that small smile of her, neither shy nor invasive, not exactly joyful, either, but simply calming.

“Sirius, this is Armand Malfoy. Armand, Sirius Black.”

A small wince appeared on the blond man's face at both of their names.

“Hearing it like that, you'd think we'd be plotting for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and not the other way around...”

Sirius laughed a bit that, clearly seeing why a Rowle, a Black and a Malfoy meeting secretly in muggle London could appear... suspicious, to say the least.

“Well then, I suppose we should just call ourselves the alliance of the pureblooded renegades. And to add insult to injury, let's welcome our muggle friend in this meeting. Your name is Alexander White, I believe?”

The red head nodded shortly, his face a clear indication of his pleasure at being there. Sirius saw this, and narrowed his eyes for a second, the thought that maybe this Malfoy and Alexander White had actually exchanged their expected personality crossing his mind, because really, White was reminding him of Lucius right now. He carried himself with the same poise, and he had that air about him, as if he was despising on principle anyone he didn't know.

“And yours is Sirius Black. May we cut directly to business? I don't especially enjoy to spend my free time with... people such as yourselves.”

Alright, comparison checked. Even the tone was the same, though White spoke a bit more curtly.

At least, he wasn't working on cleaning the world of the people he thought beneath him, Sirius guessed. That had to count for something, didn't it?

Armand Malfoy cleared his throat awkwardly, and sat by Sirius' side, while White went to sit next to Eleanor. That way, at least, neither Sirius nor the squib would try to throttle the muggle if he got too much on their nerves. Eleanor wasn't the kind of woman who would throttle Alexander White, even if he was the crudest git to her, so this was definitely the safest way.

As White had so politely suggested, they directly went to the core subject of this rendez-vous. Sirius made a quick summary of the wizarding war so far, so that White, being the only muggle amongst them, could grasp the situation more easily. After that, the Black Lord exposed the goals of the Order of the Phoenix, and the two other men, as well as Eleanor from time to time, asked some questions.

For all his arrogance and detestable personality, Alexander White was not a stubborn fool. He knew how to work with people he didn't like, if it was what was needed to remove a threat, and there was no asking if this Voldemort was or wasn't a threat. So even if he didn't like wizards and the simple idea that some people had enough power on their own to kill anyone with a single incantation, he was going to work with this Order of the Phoenix and with wizards and witches.

They were, after all, fighting for the safety of those who knew less of the horror of the world. They shared a goal, and a common goal was all the muggle needed to participate. If he could be useful, he would be so. And if he got to prove to these wand-maniacs that even people such as himself could be dangerous foes, he wasn't going to push down the opportunity.

Armand was less slytherin than any Malfoy Sirius had met so far. In fact, he was more of a Hufflepuff, he mused, gentle with anyone... Who hadn't spent the last two years despising him, like White seemed to, or even their whole lives, like half of the younger man's family. Armand portrayed himself as someone neat and organized. If he was to monitor the information about attacks with the Order, it could only be a good thing.

The two pure-bloods from noticeably dark families were definitely going to get along, Sirius thought with a smirk. Oh, his mother would be so proud, erm, so disgusted with him for associating with a squib! The only squibs a Black could possibly consider speaking to were ones from their family, if Walburga was to be believed. And that, only when no one could see the disgraces in their presence.

Eleanor listened carefully to the conversation. Her smile had disappeared, but she didn't look tense. She knew what she was signing for, after all.

The witch had been the one to ask Sirius about the Order of the Phoenix. He was the only member who had gone public in this time, with Albus Dumbledore, though a few others were known from the first war, or at least suspected. Eleanor had asked, because she didn't want to wait and see while half of her friends were getting targeted and the other half didn't dare to speak up.

She might not be a great fighter, but she had other qualities. Her dueling skills were good, but nothing more than that. She could defend herself for a time, and that was enough for her to make her decision.

She had always been considered a genius in school and afterwards. Maybe it was an exaggeration, but she was clever nonetheless. Smarter than most. She wasn't powerful, alright, but power wasn't everything. She had knowlegde in many fields, and she could be precise when needed. There surely was something she could do to help, if she couldn't very well go on the battlefield.

Sirius had been surprised, she remembered, but pleased. He had smiled at her, after she had asked, and he had looked her in the eyes, reminding her of what could happen to her with that decision. She had shrugged, pointing out that things could happen to her even if she choose not to take a side in the war. She knew the risks if she fought. She knew the reasons why she had to fight.

It was enough for her to make her mind.

Because Eleanor couldn't have stayed safe and sound while others weren't. She couldn't refuse to fight, when people such as Sirius fought. People who had already lost so much, and had hardly gotten any gratitude for it. People who carried the weight of the world, not on their shoulders, but in their eyes.

The witch wouldn't have been able to look herself in a mirror, if she had decided not to jeopardize her sweet tranquility, while Sirius went out and risked his life. She couldn't have looked at him, and appreciated the moments their friendship gave her.

And let's be honest, Eleanor wasn't a violent woman, but she would fight for her freedom, if she had been the one threatened by a group of extremists. As it was, she was a pure-blood, and so not a target, but it could have been the other way around. She wasn't going to sit around and watch helpless people die.

Sirius spoke of the role the two men could be led to assume if they accepted the Order's offer. He spoke of the dangers the squib, the witch and the muggle might be putting themselves into, too. He spoke of the need for secrecy, and about why anyone who joined, as insignificant as they were, could save a life one day. He told Eleanor that, no matter how she chose to contribute, a contribution was better than what most people did. He told Armand that his family name might be difficult to overcome, but that, eventually, the members of the Order would see his personality only. He told Alexander that being a muggle could be a hindrance from time to time, but that as long as he agreed to listen, he'd understand what truly mattered.

The wizard then sighed, and stood up.

“Don't misunderstand me; I do not like having to fight, and I loathe this war. But it is here nonetheless. There is no point crying on this fact, and I will fight for it to end since I have to. People will die, and I could be amongst them. Choices will have to be made, and I know I won't like all of them. The Death Eaters will not look away if we ignore them. So I'll fight.”

Sirius took out three pieces of paper, which he gave to them.

“I'll fight, but will you? Think about it, consider how far you are willing to go for this cause, and when you have made your choice, write you answer on these pieces of paper. If you accept our offer, we will get back to you.”

And thus this secret meeting came to an end.

Alexander White snatched his piece of paper, and left almost immediately, with only one polite nod.

He didn't take the time to look at the three magical persons he left behind as he left the bar. He didn't take the time to think about that offer. He already knew what his answer would be. He already knew that he wouldn't let his family, or anyone else for the matter, to suffer from a war they had not asked for.

When Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new secretary to the Prime Minister, but also a wizard undercover to protect said Prime Minister, had come to Alexander's and Malfoy's new office, a few weeks ago, the muggle had been immediately suspicious. Alexander knew who this man truly was, since the incident with Malfoy, the Prime Minister, and the Ministers for Magic, former and currently so. And the wizard knew he knew that.

It hadn't been a courtesy visit between colleagues, of that Alexander had been certain.

But Shacklebolt had let nothing out of his true goals with this visit. He had come back the next day, and the next, and the next. Alexander had also seen him speaking with Malfoy from time to time, but always when he himself had been out of the office.

At first the man had thought it was on this Scrimgeour's orders, watching over his new employees. Maybe to make sure they hadn't been, what had Cadfael said, already?, right, imprised, or something like that. His sister's husband had warned his family about magic, after Alexander's encounter with three wizards the other month. As the muggle had always guessed, while some spells were totally harmless, others were very dangerous. And right now there was a psycho out and about who murdered, tortured, and controlled people as he pleased.

Cadfael always looked about to be ill when he spoke about that dark wizard.

And as displeased as Alexander was with his brother-in-law, Cadfael had never seemed to be a coward to him. A damaged man, yes, with PTSD, maybe, because he had seen Cadfael's scars on his forearms, as if the wizard had been trying to rip off the skin more than once. Because he knew about the nightmares that had plagued his sister's husband, the first years. Because Cadfael sometimes behaved as if someone was after him. But not a coward. The wizard kept on fighting against his fears. He had kept on living, and things had gotten better.

Until something like one month ago.

But anyway, Shacklebolt had continued his visits to Malfoy's and his office, as if he was trying to get and know them better. As if, in a way, he had been assessing them. As if he had been searching for an answer...

And then, one day, Shacklebolt had asked if they were interested in fighting back.

From there, it had all gone to the dogs, and eventually, Alexander had ended up in that bar, with these persons, talking about a wizarding war. A war that affected muggles and witches and wizards alike. A war in which Alexander could perhaps make a difference.

He was going to accept.

He knew it.

He had given himself twenty four hours to think about it, because he knew it wasn't a good thing to just accept like that. But he already knew his answer.

Alexander got out of town, and headed for Amanda's house. His sister lived in one of the numerous suburbs of London, with her husband and her son, his nephew Alshain. They had one of those painfully plain houses of the suburbs, with lawn and white fences, but apparently Amanda was happy. Her brother still didn't get how the captain Amanda White had suddenly decided to give it all up, for this wizard who had appeared out of nowhere, with no background story, no money and no life to explain himself, but it had been her choice. Alexander couldn't exactly argue against that.

Cadfael and Alshain were to go and get the boy's furnitures for his wizarding studies this afternoon, and Amanda had decided it was a good opportunity to see her brother. Cadfael and Alexander... dealed with each other, but they didn't associate, nor did they get along. It was for the best if the two men didn't have to spend more than one hour a day with each other.

Alexander arrived at the house just in time for lunch. Him and his brother-in-law politely ignored each other, while Amanda watched them with amusement in her eyes. Alshain was asking questions about the list of furnitures, about Hogwarts, and about his father's time at that school. And while Cadfael was glad to answer to the two first groups of questions, he stayed unusually quiet about the last group.

At some point the salt shaker jumped off the table, feeling in a bad mood, surely, and intent on putting an end to its life. Cadfael stopped the suicidal salt shaker with a flick of his wand, Alshain digged sheepishly in his plate, Amanda smirked a bit, and Alexander rolled his eyes. It wasn't the first time such a thing happened, when his nephew was overly excited. Cadfael assured it would come to pass as soon as the boy would have his personal wand. Alexander wasn't convinced, then again, who was he to talk about magic?

They'd see, after this day.

The little family finished eating, and Amanda rose to take care of the empty dishes. Then the mother turned to look at her son, and looked him in the eyes.

“You'll be nice, won't you?”

“Obviously, mum. Can I go, now? Dad is waiting...”

Amanda looked up at her husband who was resting against the door frame.

Cadfael was wearing one of these strange wizarding robes, very simple, of a dark grey. He had gotten used to wearing muggle outfits, true, but he didn't want to attract attention when they'd be in diagon alley. His tie was a lovely green, and his shirt very black. As always, the scar that crept onto his left cheek from his neck was painfully red. He had tied back his long hair into a dark red half-ponytail, and two blue eyes met Amanda's.

“So you are going there like that?”

Cadfael gave her a pained smile, conscious that he had totally stolen her eye color.

“I don't want anyone to question my normal eye color. It is too... characteristic of one family, and even if they are tied to most of the other wizarding families by blood, I'd rather not have anyone thinking things that could cause problems for Al.”

Even if the wizard already knew it would come to that at some point.

“Not this soon, if anything.”

Amanda watched her husband for a long minute, but eventually pulled him into a kiss, that made Alshain look away. The ceiling was particularly interesting this afternoon, wasn't it?

“Well then, go on. And be careful.”

Alshain escaped the hair-shuffling by stepping behind his father, making his mother chuckle happily. She knew that the world her son was going to walk into was living dangerous times. But she trusted Cadfael to protect her son, and it would be better for everyone if Al finally got to meet other wizards and witches, if the boy could talk about magic with someone else than his own father.

Well, it'd be better for everyone, except for Cadfael.

The two parents shared a look, thinking about what would happen when Alshain would be Sorted. Even if his father had made that choice, one month ago, it didn't mean he had chosen so eagerly.

“We will, Amanda.”

Alshain and his father walked out of the little house, and Cadfael called for the Knight Bus with a flick of his wand. His son started at the appearance of the triple-decker, and Cadfael had to hide a smirk as he knew very well it was the first time Alshain would ride it. It ought to be fun.

The Whites' house wasn't on the floo network, for various reasons, and forcing an eleven years old to side-apparate when you could do otherwise was pure torture to the older wizard's eyes. And they weren't going to fly all the way to the Leaky Cauldron, thank you very much. So, Knight Bus it was.

Twenty three minutes later, Alshain got off the magical bus, looking about to puke. Cadfael wasn't much better, truthfully, but he hid it well. He had practice, after all.

“Why didn't you warn me, dad?”

The child staggered to the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, resentment clear on his face. Cadfael followed, and pushed the door open for his son. Both entered the old wizarding pub. The older wizard pulled Alshain to the side, behind a table, and kneeled down for them to see eyes to eyes.

“No fun in that, Al. Now, let me check your eyes...”

Two almost identicals pairs of azur eyes stared at each other for a time, and Cadfael sighed.

“Alright, we can go. We have to stop by Gringotts, to change our money into wizarding currency, before we go and get your wand and everything. You aren't too shaken from the ride, I hope?”

There was only one person, Cadfael believed, who could leave the Knight Bus unscathed, and it wasn't his son. Alshain had gotten his balance back, now that they werent walking anymore, but he still looked slightly green. It'd be a shame if the boy's first trip to Diagon Alley ended up including throwing up in a shop or two.

And this, forgetting that Amanda would skin her husband alive if he didn't take good enough care of her son. The woman might be a muggle, but she was scary, when she wanted to.

Alshain gulped, as if to regain his composure, and nodded. The boy wasn't going to let this first trip to Diagon Alley go to waste.

For some reasons, his father had always kept himself, and thus his son too, away from the various wizarding communities of England. The boy knew one or two of these reasons, but he also knew he wasn't privy to all of them. For example, he knew that the numerous scars on his father's body, these scars that never seemed to cicatrize, on his torso, his arms, his neck and his face, were one of the wizard's reasons. But he didn't know how they were that reason.

Anyway, Alshain was pretty excited at the idea of getting into the most magical street of all the country, and he wasn't going to let the Knight Bus come between him and his discovery of the wizarding world. Not ever. He would enjoy this first day amongst so many people of his kind, and he would smile for his father.

Because no matter how excited the boy had been since he had received his acceptance letter to Hogwarts, at the end of May, only one week before his birthday, which was on the fourth of June, he hadn't missed the new anxiety lurking in his father's eyes. Cadfael had been more and more nervous, after one of his dreams, that had woken him up just a few minutes after he had fallen asleep, one night. After that, Al's mother and father had spent more time than usual in quiet conversations, the kind the boy couldn't eavesdrop on without it being obvious. The kind that meant it wasn't meant for children's ears.

And Alshain had seen the wizarding newspapers that Cadfael would bring back home somedays. They spoke of war, of disappearances, and of murders, amongst other things.

And Al's father seemed to be personally affected by all that, so the boy had decided he would not let his father see he had noticed it, just so that the wizard could fool himself into thinking that, at least, Alshain continued to live and be happy like before.

The two red heads left the Leaky Cauldron, but not without Cadfael promising the bartender, Tom, that they'd take a drink on the way back. The bartender looked oddly at the wizard, but maybe Alshain only had this impression because the older wizard was kind of weird himself. Finally Tom shrugged, pushing out a thought, and thanked that red-headed wizard who reminded him of someone else, but who...?

Al was awed when the entrance to Diagon Alley revealed itself out of a simple courtyard. On the other side, dozens of people were shopping for school furnitures, and other things too. There were colors everywhere, and some of the passersby were really... strange, to say the least. The boy couldn't help but to look around with wide eyes, though he managed not to run off immediately.

While Alshain was awed, Cadfael couldn't help but feel his heart twinge as he, unlike his son, noticed the hurried steps of the shoppers, and the constant frown on their faces. Though the street was still colorful, it was nowhere near its normal state, with big purple posters hiding the displays. Here and there, blackened areas betrayed a recent attack.

The wizard hadn't been in Diagon alley since the first wizarding war, and now that he was back, the fear of the Dark Lord was back too. The chidren were few, and he guessed most parents had decided to keep them at home while they did the annual furnitures shopping.

Cadfael's eyes fell on his son. Him, at least, was enjoying himself. The other kids were too, or at least those who would soon be first years, who couldn't fully comprehend the war, and were too excited to go to Hogwarts eitherway.

Andthen he thought that the Dark Lord wanted to destroy this happiness...

Cadfael and Alshain made their way to Gringotts, and the boy found it difficult not to stare at the goblins. Luckily enough, exchanging currencies soon captured Al's attention, and the kid couldn't help but point out how illogical the wizading galleons, sickles and knuts were. His father, who was used to both muggle and wizarding money, smiled slightly. He had thought just as much when Amanda had explained to him how muggle currencies worked, but now he could understand his son's point.

For an instant the older wizard was tempted to go down and claim his personal vault, but he pushed the urge aside. Not now. Not yet.

Then they went to get the school uniforms at Madam Malkin's, and once again the shopkeeper stared at Cadfael for longer than necessary, as if she was trying to recognize him from a long-forgotten encounter. It couldn't be helped, Cadfael mused: he certainly did look like him, and that person had been often talked about lately. The wizard kept his calm demeanor, knowing very well that the best way to go unnoticed was not to act suspicious; simple as that.

Eventually Madam Malkin let it go, and started to make adjustments to Alshain's robes. The boy was very accomodating, and managed not to squirm too much. His father waited with a small smile, secretly hoping that they wouldn't meet anyone he knew too well on this shopping trip. Madam Malkin and Tom were alright, because they weren't acquaintances. But if...

He payed with a smile, and they went to buy Al's potion ingredients. As they walked, Cadfael caught sight of an elegant black and blue shop, simply named “Exeter”, with a rose underlining the name. It sold wizarding and muggle clothes of high quality, for those who couldn't bear to look like idiots when they ventured in the non-magical world for example. For a second the wizard was tempted to enter and check on Diana, but he knew it wasn't a good idea. He'd come later on. He owed Diana's husband that, at least.

Finally they only had to go and get Alshain's wand, as well as his school books. Ollivanders was closed, after a Death Eaters attack, and Cadfael cringed in anger. They had to go to Jimmy Kiddell's Wonderful Wands instead. Not that the man's works were bad, but they weren't quite as good as Ollivander's, most of the time, and Cadfael had a soft spot for the captured wizard since he had gotten his first wand. For some reason, the old man reminded him of someone special.

Jimmy Kiddell welcomed the two with a smile, but somehow it looked strained, tired... Anxious.

“For the boy, isn't it?”

Alshain glared at the shopkeeper at the word “boy”, but his father nudged him in the back, and the child faked a cough to hide his scowl.

“Indeed it is. Al will be in his first year in September.”

Kiddell started mesuring various lenghts, and mumbling at the same time. Alshain looked at the blond wizard with distrust, but an eye-roll from Cadfael had him shut up. Still, why was it needed to know the distance between his nostrils to get a good wand?

After a time, the shopkeeper handed a first wand to the boy, who waved it carefully... But to no avail. A pen literally exploded on Kiddell's desk. The wand seller blinked, and muttered a quick _reparo_ , which did not help much. Kiddell frowned, and gave his spell more power. This time, the pen was put back into shape.

The shopkeeper turned to look back at Alshain with a calculative look.

“Any family magic I should be aware of?”

Cadfael sighed. He had known it would come to this, but he had hoped against hope...

“A distant relation to the Blacks.”

And to a small dozen of other old families, but considering how family magic worked, that is, it went to anyone with the name, and to the children of the Black women as long as they weren't in another Ancient and Noble House, only the Black magic could be available to Al. Sometimes, it went out in distant descendants, if they had no ancestors in other Houses, too.

Kiddell raised an eyebrow. Yes, now that the wizard had said it... He could definitely recognize the jaw. Not difficult, with Lord Black's pictures in all the newspapers lately.

“Mmm, I see. Wait a minute, I might have something...”

And the blond wizard disappeared in his back shop.

Alshain looked at his father in confusion, and whispered.

“What are family magics?”

“Some old families have... inherited abilities, let's say. For example, the Rosiers are almost always good in Herbology. It especially affect accidental magic. You remember how you often make things explode when you are angry?”

Al nodded warily.

“And these... Blacks, they are ancestors of ours?”

“In a way, yes.”

“And what do they do? Pyrotechnics?”

It made Cadfael laugh a bit.

“No, not at all. Actually, the Blacks have an uncanny easiness with dark magic. Destruction, in a way. I knew one of them, a long time ago, and when he was truly furious, his accidental magic tended to go towards unwanted killing curses.”

Seeing Al's face going white at the revelation, Cadfael hurried to reassure him.

“Of course, as they were unwanted, accidental, and without the medium of a wand, they weren't really dangerous. The most they could do was killing small things, such as grass, or bugs, around him. And it was only when he was insanely angered that it happened. You can't just cast a killing curse like it's nothing, you know.”

But even amongst the Blacks, such accidental magic was rare. Sirius Black had really been something, back then, and Cadfael was certain the wizard was still incredibly powerful, despite his time in Azkaban. The current Black Lord wasn't just any Black, after all.

Al had calmed down a little.

“And you, dad? Do you... Do you have that family magic too?”

“Yes, but mine is nothing like that man's. He might be one of the most powerful men of that family in the last millenium, you see. The worst I ever did in accidental magic was getting my cousin a nosebleed.”

And that had been priceless, but anyway. Cadfael didn't want to frighten his son, yet he had to speak about it. Now was as good a time as any, and maybe it was the best, considering the discussion had already turned on that topic. He had planned to speak about it later, at home, but...

But Alshain's fearful face told him he'd better do it now.

“Speaking of which, Al. You have to promise me that if anything happens at school, you'll write. You should be alright for this year, and maybe the next, but puberty tends to create mood swings, and I wouldn't want you to hurt a classmate without meaning it, because of the Blacks'... well, quite violent family magic.”

The boy's voice was quiet as he answered. He was surely still processing all that.

“I'll write.”

Not ten seconds after the end of their conversation, Jimmy Kiddell came back with five boxes in his arms. He put them down, and handed the first one to Alshain, who opened it and took the wand even more carefully than before, just in case it exploded in his hands.

The wand spat two grey sparks, and the wand seller winced.

“Not quite, but almost there.”

The third wand was the right one. A cold gush of air circled around Al, and a silvery frost formed on his dark red hair. The boy jumped back at the cold touch, and Cadfael almost burst out laughing. It was almost as good as when he had found his second wand, in seventh year, after his first had been broken in a duel. His younger self had been sneezing for three consecutive days afterwards.

Kiddell smiled widely.

“Walnut, dragon heartstring, eleven inches. Six galleons and two sickles, please.”

Cadfael paid, and father and son left the small shop to go to Flourish and Blotts. Al was staring at his very own wand with awe, having completely forgotten the frost in his hair. His father was tempted to remind him, but it was too fun to watch, so he did not. The boy would certainly remember once the ice would melt down, and roll down his face.

The older wizard started to lead Al in the bookshop, taking him away from childish books of hexes, and back to school books, that, obviously, weren't as enthralling.

Cadfael had just spotted the _Magical Theory_ books by Adalbert Waffing, when he paled considerably. He took a deep breath, and called for the manager, asking him to help his son while he'd go and have some fresh air. Seeing the color of the man's face, the manager agreed immediately, surely worried that Cadfael would throw up on precious books if he stayed inside.

Once outside, Cadfael tried to ignore the harsh pain that had just exploded in his left arm.

Luckily or not, the circumstances weren't exactly easy to decipher, something else caught his attention. The outside of Flourish and Blotts proposed the Daily Prophet, and some magazines. The wizard cringed angrily as he read titles such as “Sirius Blak, free or on the loose?” or “The Black Lord: Evil? Possibly. Insane? Probably. Dangerous? Certainly.”

 


	25. Parody of a paused tango

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Sorry for the hiatus, but it was the first time I had a summer job, and well... I haven't done much besides working ( and getting my first boyfriend, which wasn't planned at all, as you might think ) this summer.
> 
> Also, I know, and, more importantly, I knew when I posted the last chapters, that some people would complain about it, but well. What do you want me to say?
> 
> Because you don't see the importance of something at first doesn't mean it was just a 'stupid' filler or something.
> 
> Moreover, you have to understand this story is going to be huge. I have something like ten more chapters planned up, and we will only be after Christmas of 6th year, i think, by that point. And I always make a point to introduce some of the "plot seeds" a few chapters prior, so there is a reason for what I do. Last chapter, this chapter, and maybe one or two more chapters might seem to be at a low for you, but it's the calm before the storm, some rest for the characters, and the occasion to plant some plot seeds here and there.
> 
> Just consider we finished part 1, and are currently transistionning to part 2?
> 
> And, please, never write in a comment/review that a point of the story is "stupid", especially not if you don't say which point and don't present any argument. The author will just get angry, and possibly ignore you, even if there was other positive points in your message.  
> "I don't get it for now, we'll have to see" is much better.  
> Or even "I don't like that, BECAUSE"  
> But not "It's stupid" (about the story, not about the character's decisions or hings like that, since some characters can actually be stupid)
> 
> Ah! Ranting is over!

It was Harry's birthday.

And for once, Harry truly and completely enjoyed his birthday.

Not that his last birthdays had been so terrible. Alright, minus the one in second year. That year he had really thought everyone had just forgotten he existed, which had hurt, considering it had been the first time in his life he had had lasting friends. But his birthdays had gone exponentially better with the each year since he had gone to Hogwarts.

1991's had seen his admission to the school, with Hagrid coming to tell him he was a wizard, and to curse Dudley with a pig tail, though no one was supposed to know about that. 1992's had been less great, as told before, because Dobby the house-elf had taken his letters. 1993's had seen him with his first birthday presents ever, Hedwig excepted. 1994's had been calm, with the Dursleys being terrified of his rabid-criminal-of-a-godfather-on-the-loose, their words, not his, but he hadn't seen it necessary to correct their assumptions. 1995's had been spent, not in the greatest house ever, true, but with both his friends and his godfather.

And this year, it seemed it would simply be the perfect birthday.

First of all, they were all present: himself, obviously, the Weasleys, Hermione, Sirius, Remus, the Tonks, and interestingly, Fleur Delacour too. Bill was lucky he could ignore his brothers better than anyone, because Fred and George were teasing him to death.

If only Remus didn't look like he was going to fall asleep anytime and never wake up, it'd be perfect, but the teenager was content enough that the werewolf had come, considering the date.

Second thing, they were at a pleasant place: the Burrow.

It might not be as classy or elegant or costly as Black Manor, but it was a bit more homely. With only Sirius and himself at the manor, and with the... blackness of the place, Harry sometimes felt a bit depressed. He had no idea how Sirius could bear the idea of living there all year round... Then again, it was a place of memories for his godfather, and Sirius seemed to like the quiet, from time to time.

Anyway, Harry only had great memories of the Burrow, and the place, if at fist glance a bit derelict, was colored. Warm. Welcoming.

Third thing, if all his problems weren't solved, especially not the snake-faced one, some were, and that was more than he could say most years. Sirius was free, and everybody knew he had told the truth. It was more than he had hoped for at the beginning of the last school year.

Fourth thing, he was currently playing a quidditch game that was definitely becoming insane.

What could be better, to start a birthday party?

Nothing, obviously.

Remus and Arthur Weasley had helped to pull up the goals, in the same hidden field where Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry had played once, two years ago. Now, they were with Hermione, simply watching the younger ones play. Mrs Weasley and Andromeda Tonks were speaking quietly nearby, and Bellatrix Lestrange's ghost had gone around to keep an eye on the surroundings, apparently. Harry wasn't displeased that she had gone away, and he didn't doubt the feeling was mutual. They usually went out of their way to avoid each other at Black Manor. Even if everyone seemed to like her better now that death had taken away her insanity, she still wasn't their favorite person.

But if things were going slowly for those who weren't in the game, it wasn't the case for the players.

They might not have been numerous enough for a real game, but some of them made it up with both enthousiasm and agressivity. Harry doubted they would play more than one game before going back to the house to eat the cake.

His own birthday cake. He almost couldn't believe it.

Almost, because Sirius was spoiling him since they had started living together.

Anyway, they had to change the rules of quidditch a bit, since they were only nine, and there was no snitch, but it was becoming more epic by the minute. They had decided on a forty minutes limit.

Team Weasley had Ron at the goals, the most stressed keeper in the history of quiddicth as always. Then, Fred and George, who had decided to close shop for the day, as beaters, obviously, and they were so synced it was frightening, as usual. Bill and Ginny were playing chasers, and both were great, though Bill insisted Charlie would have done better... But Charlie was away, working and recruiting foreign wizards, so he hadn't made it.

Team Potter-Black was dangerous in a whole other way. Ted Tonks had agreed to play keeper, since Remus was too tired to even stand on his broom; his game was alright, just enough that the others didn't have to constantly worry about the goals behind them. Harry and Nymphadora were playing chasers, and while it was a different experience for the boy, it was mostly something very dangerous with the metamorphmagus as a partner. Yes, she could stay on her broom. And yes, she was as clumsy as ever. Bill swore she had given him a heart attack when her broom had unexpectedly aimed at him at full speed. No harm done, because Tonks was an Auror and knew how to stop something like that from happening on a mission, but still. And then, there was Sirius, who had taken the two spots of the beaters for himself. And he was good enough to fill in, that was certain. Only, he was just as likely to give Harry a heart attack as Tonks, because if he wasn't clumsy, he was definitely dangerously insane.

The twins had a hard time against the young Lord, and the three of them had started a true battle just between themselves in the middle of the game. Everyone eyed them suspiciously, never really looking away, even when they had to. They felt it was simply too dangerous to do so.

The thing was, one of Harry's gifts had been a quidditch set, minus the snitch, and Sirius had offered to open it earlier, since the Weasleys didn't have balls to play. It would have been a shame, considering they had the right amount of decent, and cheatingly-good too, brooms, and a special area for a game.

Harry started when a black form dived right in front of him, from right above him, and Sirius suddenly appeared, ready to gift another bludger to the twins anytime.

Harry snorted a bit, and went back into the game. It was hard enough keeping track of the three catastrophes and play at the same time as it was, so he'd rather not space out too much.

Even if this was proving to be the best birthday ever.

The game ended with an even number of points for each team, not surprisingly.

They were all sweating heavily, though Bill and Sirius managed to do that and still look cool somehow. Mrs Weasley sighed at them, and they all went, without even attempting negociations, to take a quick shower. It was better for everyone, and even if Ron looked like he might have had the idea of protesting, he didn't. He certainly wasn't feeling any more comfortable than Harry did, surely, in his soaked clothes.

A few minutes later, they were all sitting down outside. There wasn't enough place inside, but the Burrow's wards had been upgraded several times over the last two years, so it wouldn't be a problem. Mr and Mrs Weasley had taken out two large tables, green napkins, and chairs of various forms. No one commented, because there really was nothing to say. They weren't snobs.

Mrs Weasley came out of the house with a really big and really mouth-watering cake, that she put down right before Harry. The teenage wizard wasn't sure exactly what the cake was made with, but if he had to guess, he'd say it was at least pumpkin, apple, and liquorice-based. Wizards tended to use strange associations like that, when cooking, and so far he hadn't been able to complain.

Aside from that one time, with the leak cupcakes. And with Bertie Botts' beans, but for those it kind of was the point, for some to be simply disgusting while others were delicious.

“Here, Harry dear, do you want to cut the cake?”

From the corner of his eye, Harry might have seen Sirius waggle his eyebrows at him for the nickname, but it might have been an illusion, too. The teenager decided to ignore his godfather, just in case.

“Of course, Mrs Weasley, but I...”

It wasn't that he didn't know how to, because he had had to do it for Dudley's many times, and under the strict watch of Aunt Petunia, least he got away with the cake, or worse, decided to trash it just to piss they off, since, you know, he was a delinquent.

He hadn't ever cut a birthday cake that was his own, before. Not like this, at least, with his friends with him and everything just going right.

But everything was simply happening as it was supposed to be, for now, and his friends were here. So he steeled his resolve, and took the cake. It was just a cake, after all. His cake. His birthday cake. And he wasn't going to let something like that deter him. Not today.

Molly had watched the boy's hesitation with surprise, but she didn't say anything, and she refrained from frowning. Whatever it was that had made him hesitate, it wasn't here anymore, and it was all that really mattered. Harry deserved a normal birthday, for once.

Everyone got a slice of cake, and indeed, they all agreed it was delicious. If Molly's cheeks were a bit pink after that, they all pretended not to have seen anything.

Then came the time for the gifts.

Sirius stretched from his seat.

“Alright, boys, girls. I believe Harry might like to see the presents we got for him. He already saw one of mine, so it's someone else's turn.”

Ron and Hermione shared a look for a moment, before standing up together and disappearing inside the Burrow without a word.

Sirius mock-whispered to Remus, who only rolled his eyes.

“I didn't say it was time to snog, did I?”

Molly might have given the young Lord an evil-eye, but it didn't last long enough for him to be certain of it, so he just shrugged it off. And, if the mother might not have wanted to hear that about her son and his female best friend, Fred and George were definitely sniggering stupidly behind their older brother. Who, by the way, had raised his eyebrows high, not having been around enough to know about this particular theory about Ron and Hermione's friendship.

Before anything else could be said, though, Harry's two best friends came back, each with a present in their arms. The wrapping was gold and brown for Hermione's, and purple and green for Ron, but they seemed to be from the same place. Also, given the size, Harry had a feeling they could be books...

There was a moment of silence. Then Hermione cleared her throat, and put her gift on the table, just in front of Harry.

“So, we were thinking about what we could get you, Ron was complaining because he couldn't come up with any idea, and then I realized you didn't get to read these at the Dursleys'...”

Ron handed him his own gift.

“Yeah, and her idea was actually great, you know, man. I hadn't even realized, but it's going to be super easy to get you gifts, now!”

Hermione gave the red head a look that told him about what exactly she thought of him saying that out loud. Ginny looked up from her remnant of cake, that she had been toying with for the last ten minutes, and smirked at her brother knowingly. Ron blushed red under his freckles.

“...So, yeah. That's from us.”

Harry thanked them, and started with Ron's, before opening Hermione's present.

It turned out to be books alright, just not the kind he had expected. Ron had gotten him two wizarding comics, which Harry found himself curious over. He had gotten glimpses of Ron's, but he hadn't actually ever read any, and he wondered how different it would be from normal comics. Hermione had taken him a simple fantasy novel, completely muggle, and he found it surprisingly thoughtful of her. The girl tended to read only classics or serious books, but it was just a story. The kind of story he had rarely gotten to read, because the Dursleys would only get him what was needed for school, or give him the books Dudley never read.

“That's great, guys, really. Thanks.”

As always, Mrs Weasley had made him a jumper. It made Sirius laugh, but Harry glared at him mildly, and before he knew it, his godfather had forced the green jumper on him, just, not with the arms in the sleeves. Looking like a restraigned green madman, Harry glared at Sirius once more.

Remus was the one to help him out with this one.

Once that struggle passed, the werewolf gave him a small gift in brown wrapping, telling him he was likely to need it for DADA next year. When Harry opened it, he only found a Ear-Splitting-Rages Journal, with the instructions on the back cover; when you feel like screaming at someone and can't, you simply start writing your anger, and it feels like you actually shouted at the one you are angry with.

Somehow, it made Harry doubt Slughorn would be the DADA professor. He didn't think he'd need that journal with Slughorn...

The others had a few little things for him, too. The Tonks had gotten Harry a few photos of compromising situations in which Sirius had ended up a long time ago, though the young Lord simply snorted at the threat. Ginny had tried to make cookies herself, under her mother's watch. Bill had given him an old coin from Egypt he had found in his suitcase.

And at last, Sirius handed him a beautiful black feather that turned out to be a quill.

“House-of-Black stamped. One of the ravens at the manor willingly participated, and I charmed it not to get used too quickly. It should last the whole year if you're careful, kid.”

Harry blinked at the quill, that was almost longer than his forearm.

“How big are the ravens at Black Manor, exactly?”

He didn't get an answer to that question, curiously. Only a smug look.

A smug look that somehow turned evil, and Harry gulped, already waiting for the prank or whatever it was that had his godfaher grinning like a loon.

It wasn't as terrible as he had feared, though.

“And your last present, Harry, are Prongs' antlers!”

The boy started as he felt something appear suddenly, heavy on his head. He reached immediately, and grabbed something... Something that felt like plastic.

He frowned, and pulled.

Right after that, he found himself staring dumbly at a christmas-like pair of antlers on a black head strap.

He looked behind him, somewhat relieved it hadn't been a jinx that he couldn't have removed before three hours without turning purple, but now wondering how the hell the antlers had gotten on his head if it hadn't been a spell.

Sure enough, Fred and George, wearing their own and inversed jumpers, grinned at him, hands behind their backs.

“I -”

“- didn't do anything.”

“I'd say, if one of us is guilty of anything -”

“- it's definitely him -”

“- and not me.”

Then, together:

“You believe me, don't you, Harry?”

The teenager felt his head spin a bit after that, until Fred... Forge... George... or was it Gred?, put a hand on his left shoulder.

“You'll have our present when you'll come to Diagon Alley, Harrikins. We owe -”

Gred glanced at his mother, knowing full well it would not be wise for him to divulge this particular piece of information right now, for Harry at least. Molly Weasley might have warmed up quite nicely to their project, since the twins had proved they could manage their job well enough, but they figured it'd be better if they kept quiet about Harry's involvement for the next decade or two. Just in case.

Forge ended his sentence for him, in a less slippery way.

“- We'd appreciate to offer you some of our greatest inventions.”

The world stopped ringing at Harry's ears as he nodded, wide-eyed.

“Sure. No problem, Forge, Gred. I'll pass by.”

The twins frowned at him, then at each other, before pinching each of his cheeks.

“You're sure you're alright, Harrikins?”

Harry blinked. The world was back to normal, and he wasn't seeing two and a half twins anymore. Two were right enough as they were, he found.

“Yeah, sorry. Thanks, Fred. I think I'm going to get something to drink.”

And true to his word, Harry stood up and went for the kitchen, where he splattered his face with cold water.

Back at the tables, Sirius had watched his godson walk away a bit groggily, a small smile on his lips. He knew the twins could be confusing when they wanted, but he had a feeling it had more to do with it being Harry's first true birthday party ever.

He was going to do his damned best to save Harry's life, at the end of the story. Even if for now he was getting a bit desperate, because there simply weren't enough books on horcruxes for a study on living horcruxes to have been done. No matter what, it didn't mean he couldn't do his best to give the teenager the best life possible until the fateful hour.

For now, Sirius simply did his best not to see James above Harry, as he tended to do automatically. While the two were almost identical physically wise, their personalities weren't really the same. Sure, some things remained, like the courage, or even the foolhardiness, and Harry, despite being quite nice overall, still had the same tendency as James did for prejudices, though he didn't act on it most of the time, unlike his father. On other points, Harry was more like Lily. Humility, for example, and that surely because of his childhood that had been really, really diferent from his father's. Being angry at bullies. And being a bit less prone than James to break school rules, unless it was absolutely necessary.

Though, on that point, trouble seemed to search out for the teenager anyway.

Also, Sirius tried to hide his concern, whenever Harry was around, and he was reminded of what might await the kid. Sirius tried to hide his anger, too, and for now Harry didn't know about his frequent visits to the anger room, where he cast every single dark spell he knew to release some anger when it became too much. After all, the Black Lord couldn't allow himself to have bouts of accidental dark magic, no matter the pressure he was under.

It really wouldn't do.

As his thoughts went on and on, the animagus' smile disappeared gradually, and Remus noticed despite his own problems. Harry had come back from the kitchen, but hadn't noticed anything yet, busy with his friends. The werewolf watched his own friend for a while, and understood what was happening when Sirius' gaze slipped from Harry to the twins, becoming colder at the same time, before the young Lord looked up at the sky, and the weigth of the world seemed to crush his shoulders.

“Sirius, you're brooding.”

“I'm not.”

Remus snorted, and stood up. Tonks almost immediately was by his side, asking him if he needed help, but the werewolf only said he had to go, if he wanted to be home and in his basement before the moon went up.

Before going to say goodbye to the others, though, Remus looked critically at his friend for one last time.

“If you're not brooding, why did you look at the twins as you always do, when there are twins around? As if you deserved to be sucked into oblivion and never heard of again? You might have gotten used to them last summer, Sirius, but when you're brooding you can't hide it, you know that? It's just too much, even for you.”

“Whatever you say, Moony. And I told you to go to the manor. The dogs are waiting for you, and Harry and I have planned to sleep here, so there is truly no danger.”

The werewolf hesitated, but eventually nodded.

Ten minutes later, he was gone, and Tonks was staring longingly at the spot he had apparated from.

Sirius decided to stop brooding for a minute, which he had definitely not been doing anyway, just to ask the question he had been burning to ask for the last month.

“Is that just me, Nymphadora, or you are flirting with my best friend?”

The metamorphmagus blushed, and chose to ignore her stupid cousin.

“It's Tonks.”

“Whatever you say, Nymphie.”

“And what was he talking about, with the twins?”

Sirius slumped back onto his chair, dark look back on his face, and grumbled.

“Ask your mother, she knows. And actually, I'm pretty sure you know too, you just haven't realized it yet.”

Not long after that, Arthur Weasley suddenly looked up from his book and frowned, as if he was hearing something they couldn't. The kids looked at him strangely, while the adults became more alert.

They knew that particular look. Someone was at the wards, and though they weren't attacking the property, they weren't allowed inside without invitation. It was the Weasley variation of the traditional wards most Houses used, and it hadn't been used by the family for a few years, but Arthur had taken it out again with Voldemort's return, one year ago.

Not every pureblooded family was as paranoid as the Blacks, or even the mostly slytherin-sorted Houses, but now, everyone had gotten back to extreme wardings and magical traps. The Ministry of Magic provided some protection, too, and most small families depended on it, but the old Houses had money, or at least secret spells that worked differently than most, and were more likely to hinder an attacker.

Not all wardings would stop Voldemort and his Death Eaters for long, and most would fall quickly if not supplied directly by a wizard, but it could at least delay the bastards. And those who could afford the protection were happy enough with just that.

But, for now, the wards only tingled at Arthur's mind, which meant they weren't under attack. The man stood up, ready to go and see who was here, and what for.

Before he could go very far, a green letter twirled around from the invisible gate to him, and Arthur snatched the thing from its inexistent wisk of wind before it could fall to the ground. He took a minute to read it, his eyebrows going up at some point, and then he glanced at Sirius, an amused smile cracking his face.

“Someone for you, 'Lord Black'. Apparently, she has something to tell you.”

Sirius' mind immediately went to Eleanor, for some reason, but he took his time to get up and move to the gate. He could feel Nymphie's inquisitive stare on his back, and he had caught Harry's raised eyebrow, and he didn't want to feed them any other reason to tease him.

Not that there was anything for them to tease him about.

As he rounded the corner of the house, Sirius heard Arthur's voice once more.

“And tell her she can come in if she wishes!”

Sirius had absolutely no idea why the Weasley Lord had said that. It wasn't as if Miss Rowle didn't have anything better to do than to spend her free time with him, was it?

Just as he had guessed, Eleanor was standing just outside the wards, still clad in her uniform.

Which was weird, as if she had left the Ministry in a hurry.

“Is it an official visit?”

The witch glanced quickly at her attire, and fiddled with her wand, stuck, as usual, in her chignon.

“Oh, that. Sorry. I didn't take the time to change back into normal clothing.”

“Did something happen?”

What could have gotten her to leave the Ministry in a hurry, and to come to see him here, at the Weasleys? But even if she was still wearing her strict robe with the logo of the Office of Misinformation on it, she didn't seem hurt or even dirty, so nothing terrible had happened, surely?

But why was she here, then?

Speaking of, how had she known where to find him? It wasn't as if he had broadcasted his plans for Harry's birthday to the magical community of England...

“No, not really. I just thought I'd give you a head-up. The surprise might have been a bit unpleasant, otherwise, or at least unnerving. And well, they were certainly counting on it, so I decided I'd ruin their plans, at least a bit.”

Eleanor tucked a stray strand of hair behind her left hair, and looked around one more time.

She didn't look worried, per se, maybe just anxious that whatever the suprise was, someone would come and see her warning him.

She wasn't exactly doing anything bad, but she'd rather the Ministry didn't know she had come here to warn Sirius Black and Harry Potter about the surprise.

No need to anger anyone, after all. And no need to make them suspicious of her, either.

“So... Well, Scrimgeour has planned to pass by here soon enough, ask for you two's cooperation, poster boy and supportive Lord and everything. I heard him speak about it in a corridor. And knowing you, you might have ended up saying something abbrasive instead of being supportive. So I came over.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, amused.

“And why wouldn't I say something abbrasive, now that I'm warned?”

Eleanor shrugged, knowing full well that whatever Sirius would have done, it was just as likely to happen now that he knew as it'd have been otherwise. Still, she had to try if she wanted to hope.

“I don't expect you to become a diplomat over the course of twenty minutes, but you at least get the time to think about it. And if it doesn't end well, you won't be able to say you were taken by surprise.”

“I could lie.”

“You could. It wouldn't become the truth for all that.”

Eleanor looked around one last time, and gave him a warm smile. She knew how much he cared for his godson, even if sometimes he had a hard time showing it, because he was too busy trying not to call the teen “James”, or not to think about the possible fate waiting for the boy, or...

When they spoke freely, on a sunday afternoon, sitting under a tree at Black Manor, Harry was a frequent subject.

“And I didn't want them to crash Harry's party too much. I... I think I should go. I came as soon as my shift ended, so they shouldn't be long, I don't really want the Minister to see me here...”

“Mr Weasley said you could come in, if you want. I could do with your company, now that my best friend ran away.”

It had come out, not against his will, but even before he could decide if he'd ask. Sirius wasn't sure he regretted the spontaneity.

Eleanor seemed to be surprised, for a moment, but eventually she came back to her senses, glancing over her shoulder one more time, as if realizing that the more she waited to take a decision, to give him an answer, the more likely she was to cross path with Scrimgeour.

Uncharacteristically, the witch bit her lower lip for a second, before nodding.

“Alright. But if you don't mind, I'd like to change clothes.”

Sirius smiled, a soft and warm expression on his face that wasn't usually here.

“Come in. I'm sure Mrs Weasley will allow you to change upstairs.”

Just as they walked away, the witch and the wizard tensed. Just a few feet behind them, at the gate, the air had shifted, announcing one apparition at least. They had felt it only because apparition travelers usually left a trade mark, both when they left a place, and just before they materialized elsewhere. Most of the time, it was a small sound, but not always. Sirius cracked each time he apparated, and Eleanor went out with a soft “pop”.

This person, however, sent a wave of cold air around.

Sirius closed the door of the Burrow behind Eleanor, hoping that Scrimgeour hadn't gotten a good look at her. Because that wave of cold? It was definitely the new Minister for Magic.

Then he turned around to see the old lion mane of Rufus Scrimgeour, as well as the surprisingly tamed red mess of a Weasley. Then again, the Weasley hair never was as terrible as the Potter hair.

Back on the other side of the Burrow, Arthur froze.

Someone had opened the wards to a visitor, who wasn't Eleanor Rowle, whom he had already invited in, and he wasn't the one to have opened them. Only the adult Weasleys could do that without his consent, Bill and Molly were here with him, Charlie was still in Romania, which only left...

“Percy.”

Molly's eyes zeroed on him, before jumping back to the Burrow's entrance, hidden behind the house, as if she could see through it, and soothe her mind with the sight of her wayward son.

Bill swatted his brother on the head when Ron said something unbecoming, but his stance was as tense as his other siblings'. They were mostly trying to ignore the traitor coming their way, except Ginny who was simply glaring a hole through the house, waiting for the ass to join them. She wasn't sure why he'd want to come, especially today, after all he had said and done the preceding year, but apparently he was here, and he wasn't alone...

The only “good” thing in that was that, even if Percy wasn't their favorite person, and even if he hadn't been brave enough to come around and ask for forgiveness, everyone here just knew he wouldn't let an enemy in. Not knowingly, if anything, and certainly not willingly. Even the twins admitted it, that if someone threatened their older brother's life to get to them, no matter what had transpired between them, Percy would never agree to help them. The former Head Boy might lack courage when it came to admitting he was wrong, but he didn't when it truly mattered.

The other Weasleys only hoped he would see that and stop ignoring them before such a time came. Meanwhile, they had mostly decided he was a bastard whose presence wasn't even worth acknowledging.

Remembering what Percy had written to Ron the year before, Harry moved slightly out of sight, just in case. He didn't trust himself not to start screaming if they ended up face to face.

Harry wasn't particularly known for his control over his temper.

He had no idea who Sirius had gone to see at the gate, but he sure hoped his godfather would be back soon, preferably before Percy arrived to them, and did whatever he had come for. Hopefully, it was apologizing.

Sirius, Percy and someone else, who turned out to be Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister for Magic himself, walked around the house and came into sight. Mr Weasley tensed a bit when he recognized his boss, firstly because Scrimgeour hadn't made it a habit to come to the Burrow and yet there he was, secondly because if the Minister was here, there were fewer chances that Percy was here to come back into the family.

It was more likely that Scrimgeour was using Percy as an excuse to come around just the day the famous Harry Potter wasn't at Black Manor, under heavy protections that the Black Lord would not open, even for the Minister of Magic without a good reason.

Scrimgeour saluted the Weasleys and the Tonks, but soon walked a bit away, saying he didn't want to impose while “Percy catch up with his family”. Percy-catching-up-with-his-family couldn't look his own mother in the eyes, though. So in the end, Sirius ended up alone with the Minister.

The Black Lord put on a polite, but guarded expression. He hadn't forgotten the encounter from before his trial, and he wasn't in the mood to get insulted. Despite his slight moodiness towards a bunch of various possible future catastrophes, he had even managed to appreciate Harry's birthday fully. He certainly hoped Scrimgeour wouldn't be the one to put an end to his good mood.

There was a moment of silence.

Then the Minister for Magic cleared his throat and forced himself to look the man before him in the eyes.

“I wished to apologize for my accusations of the other day.”

Sirius blinked, surprised. He hadn't hoped for such a thing to happen. Though Scrimgeour had submitted a blank vote at his trial, which meant the man was at least reconsidering his views on the young Lord, Sirius hadn't expected that much. And even if he had allowed himself to believe the Minister might end up believing him at some point, he would not have expected such straight-forward apologies.

Well.

He wasn't going to complain, was he?

“Apologies accepted. I don't resent you for doubting me, anyway. I just wasn't very pleased with being the only one to never have been offered a chance to prove myself.”

Sirius looked away and at the sky before him.

“But that is not the sole reason for your presence. Am I wrong?”

“No, you aren't. I need to speak with your godson, truth to be told.”

Sirius hummed a bit, thoughtful. Usually he wouldn't let the politician anywhere near Harry, not after the last year, and the unfair accusations the Ministry had constantly showered the teen with, but well. He was in a good mood, Scrimgeour was definitely not under an Imperius curse, the former Auror wasn't the kind of man to try anything stupid, and Harry would have to deal with this at some point in time. Here and now had the advantage of Sirius being around, ready to do damage control if necessary. It could not be the case next time.

“I see. Don't expect him to be the Ministry's biggest fan, though. And unlike me, Harry doesn't like to look over an unpleasant past, even if it is towards a better future.”

Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow at that.

“Because you do?”

Sirius smirked, knowing very well that once the Minister'd have talked to Harry, it would be his turn again.

“I don't like to, either, but I'm willing to, if it's for the sake of something important enough. I may bitch about the past for a time, and I might be unpleasant to anyone who deserved it, but I can get over it. Harry... Well, he is young, for one.”

The younger wizard's smirk melted a little, into something bitter.

“And he's a Potter. They are fierce and prideful, and need some time to soften after an insult, when us Blacks are able to compromise, sometimes to forgive, but never to forget. You can try, but I think you came here at least one year too early to get his help.”

Scrimgeour said nothing about the other man's assumption that he had come asking for help, probably because he was right about it and both knew the other to know that. He seemed displeased at Sirius' prediction as to the outcome of his enterprise, of course, but once again, it was only the truth. It was unlikely for Harry to just forgive the Ministry like that. In a year or two, perhaps...

The Minister for Magic walked away and towards Harry, who was still doing his best keeping out of Percy's way. Sirius watched them for a time, but they went too far away at some point, and he simply gave up.

At that moment, Tonks crept up on her cousin to try and startle him. Sirius only grabbed her wrist and twisted around, his left ankle going for her own. Tonks, thanks to her Auror reflexes, didn't fall to the ground, though they ended up in some parody of a paused tango.

Stupid until the end, Sirius waggled his eyebrows.

“You come here often, Pixie?”

The metamorphmagus' hair spiked up in pinkish mock-anger, while her facial features sharpened a bit more to accentuate the pixie-side of her... current looks.

“You'd flirt with your cousin's daughter?”

Sirius exagerated his answer with flourish, pulling her up to stand on her own feet again.

“Don't you flirt with my best friend?”

This time, Tonks only pouted a bit.

“I would, if he let me. But for some reason he decided nice werewolves didn't deserve to be loved, and that I deserved better than him.”

“Right, I know this one pretty well. Did you know he has never dated anyone because of his little fury problem? Like, no one ever?”

“Uh. I suppose I'll have to take that into consideration...”

Sirius spotted the Minister for Magic coming back from his “walk” with Harry, and heading his way. Scrimgeour looked a bit miffed, and Harry had gone straight back to his friends. Meaning it hadn't gone well. Not that Sirius was surprised.

And he might have been civil to Scrimgeour, he also knew the man wasn't really interested in Harry's well-being or whatever; that he only wished to use his fame. And Sirius could understand that, because the Minister couldn't just assume that a prophecy he had only heard rumors about was going to happen, and that Harry Potter would soon be the savior of us all.

He could understand, yes. He still wouldn't have approved if Harry had accepted to be a poster boy.

So, even before Scrimgeour could ask anything of him too, Sirius gave him his answer.

“It wouldn't work, Minister. You are the Law, but I am the Necessity. Think about it, and you'll see it would never work, even if we agreed on a collaboration.

The Minister for Magic left after that, accompanied by Percy, and frowning, deep in thoughts.

Sirius' smile grew wider when Eleanor poked out of the Burrow, asking if Scrimgeour had left.

 


	26. Scarlet painting job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I like to think Eleanor is mostly an enhanced version of me.
> 
> Also, I don't want to do a text about all the things I don't approve of in fanfic, especially in "read the book" stories, but I will and I did put some of them here and there. I really don't like the way many people add extreme bashing everywhere in their stories, and meanwhile make another character look perfect, as if a perfect character was interesting. A Gary Stu or a Mary are only infuriating, I think, but well.  
> I think you've noticed I don't do bashing, nor the contrary. I'm rather sick of Perfect Gary Stu Harry the Saint, of Dumbledore bashing, of Snape the Poor Misunderstood Man, of Sirius the Bastard, of Draco the Hidden Genius, or even of the need some people seems to have to add angst by child abuse. They do what they want, but you won't find it here.  
> Most of the time, I just don't read the story if there's too much injustified bashing. Still, I want to be able to read a few fanfics from time to time. And there are simply things I can't condone. I'm not saying I don't want you to write your stories as you wish, and you can have all the prejudices you want. Just, when you read my stories, don't comment on your hate if you disagree with me. We can argue a bit, but that's all. Just, let's agree to disagree if you're not willing to listen to my point.
> 
> On a more pleasant point, I hope my Sirius doesn't appear as a Gary Stu ( I think he's a bit too scary for that, but what do I know? )

It was hot that day. Not surprising, considering they were in summer, but still. Unusually hot for a London summer, especially since dementors were hovering glummily all around town.

It was a thursday, in the middle of August, more or less. Sirius had left Harry with the Weasleys, but was only a patronus call away. They had spent the last week in each other's presence only, Harry having just returned from his mandatory week at the Dursleys', and the older wizard could see they needed some time out. So he had asked Arthur if Ron would have liked spending the day with Harry, and unsurprisingly, the teenagers had been totally for it.

Sirius, on the other hand, had flooed to Grimmauld Place, said “hi” to the two members of the Order working there that day, scowled viciously at his mother's portrait, and left. He had then sent a patronus to Eleanor, and walked around the city aimlessly, waiting for an answer.

That's how the Lord of the House of Black and a member of the House of Rowle had ended up here, sitting on a bench in a muggle park, both of them eating an ice cream most wizards would call dull because it didn't glow in the dark nor did it heat up on their tongue. Personally, Sirius liked his ice creams simple. Liquorice and coconuts.

Eleanor had only once tried a muggle ice cream, with Armand. She didn't get why most wizards were so judgemental, considering they had the very same flavors alongside the magic flavors. Besides, this lime and rapsberry sorbet tasted better than any magically-enhanced ice cream she'd had lately.

The witch smiled a bit, as she watched two children playing around in the sandbox, a dozen of feet away. They were muggles, but they laughed just the same.

“Do you often wander around muggle London?”

The question startled Sirius a bit.

“Not that often, especially the last years, but... I like to. It's less extravagant, most of the time, than the wizarding world, but I think it's calming. And here, no one knows me. The wizarding parts of London are too reduced. They're great, but you don't have much choice. It can be infuriating.”

Eleanor nodded. She bit into the last bit of her ice cream, and turned around to look at him.

“I get it. That's why I chose to live here, in a normal apartment. I've magicked it a bit, sure, but it's still very muggle. I made friends, that way. That's how I met Armand, actually. At a bookstore. A normal, muggle bookstore. A place where no books tries to eat your hands.”

She had a wry smile as she said this, and it got to Sirius' curiosity. It was like she was talking from experience. And he knew of only one, or really, two, but Hagrid's didn't count, books that tried to eat your hands. Maybe there were a few others, but still.

“Did Miss Rowle ever happen to be in the Restricted Section, without authorization?”

She gave him a disdainful sneer, but surrendered information nonetheless.

“Well, I was trying to understand why MacMarmond's drying spell had ended up desiccating its caster, but obviously they wouldn't let a fifteen years old look at the spell that had gone wrong. So I had to go and take a look for myself. I'm quite sure your excuses for being in the Restricted Section at night weren't so academic.”

“ _Touché_. My stays in the restricted Section were more about finding out how to make a suit of armor threaten bloody things at the future Lord Bulstrode, over the security spells of the professors. A true work of art, I dare say. At some point it had even followed the guy to the toilets, and I think it had started talking about cutting off some things, but I never got confirmation. The Slytherins just wouldn't talk of it.”

Eleanor laughed a bit, remembering the last time she had seen Dorian Bulstrode at the Ministry. The wizard had never become a Death Eater, considering it to be too dangerous for his political career, but he had been suspected of being a willing supporter of Voldemort nonetheless, years ago.

“What had that douchebag done?”

Because that was the thing, with what some had called “Black's bullying”. To be “bullied” by Sirius Black at Hogwarts, one had to have done something serious. Be it bullying, threats, horrendous name-calling...

Or, there was another way. The ones who got it like that usually regretted it badly. Because it wasn't about pranking or derogatory speechs, here. An attack, some called it. But the thing was, no one really knew, because it was never public, and the guys rarely had more than one or two bruises.

Eleanor suspected a simple talk. Freezing. Menacing. And when the other tried to attack Sirius himself, because they had been pushed too far, or because they were morons, depends on the situation, he didn't do a thing, except prove to them how superior he was. That they couldn't even get to him. That he could get rid of them without breaking a sweat, if he wanted.

Speculations, of course.

Because, except Sirius and the concerned people, no one had any idea of what happened, these times. Eleanor was not part of that group. She could only guess.

“Oh, the usual name-calling to a muggleborn whose parents had just been killed.”

“Surprising, coming from him.”

“Hum. He used to be more... discreet. But they said Marianna Parkinson had just told him to fuck off. In the slytherin common room. With half the House present.”

“Still a douchebag.”

“Never said otherwise.”

They sat there, in this simple muggle park, in companionable silence for a few more minutes. They weren't looking at each other, or anything like that. They were simply watching the life. They had chased off any dementor they had encountered on their way, well hidden from muggle eyes, obviously. The people from the neighborhood seemed to have noticed the change of atmosphere, because a few had come down, and were now walking around the park, happy for a few minutes.

They watched the life they had brought back, for an hour or so, to this place.

Finally, Sirius asked the question he had been wondering about all this time.

With someone else, he wouldn't have asked. With Remus, Tonks, or the few others whom he could still call friends, he had no need to. He knew them, they knew him, before. With regular people on the other hand, people he didn't know much, just like Eleanor, he wouldn't have asked.

But she wasn't a regular person. Far from it.

With her, he felt like he could ask. He felt as if he needed to ask.

After all, she kept coming to him when he asked her to.

“Why would you bother?”

The witch turned back to look a him. Her expression was gentle, and at the same time quizzical. Sirius had a feeling that no matter what happened, she would alwys manage to appear gentle.

“Doing what?”

He gestured helplessly at himself, at the park, at her.

“Why would you even bother with someone like me? With being my... friend? I'm nothing less than a psychopath with fairness issues.”

Well, maybe psychopath wasn't the right word, but it wasn't his job to determine this, so he'd go with it.

What was sure, what he hadn't hidden once since he was back, was that he didn't care for things people were supposed to care about, if only a little. There were things he could do, things he would do if necessary, that should have disgusted him, but that didn't. He didn't particularly like doing these things, but he didn't dislike it either.

If he chose to, he was certain he could be a worse monster than Bellatrix had been.

A memory burned at his mind, but he pushed it away. There were some things he knew, but he liked better not to aknowledge. Like his makeshift conscience.

Eleanor watched the gloom settling on Sirius' shoulders, and she saw the tiny glint of fear, fear of himself, fear of what he could do, in the corner of his eyes. She sighed, and reached out to him. He wasn't a regular human being, but that didn't make him a monster. The worst was that he knew it.

Because he was aware of his flaws, unlike many, and because these flaws were more dangerous than the average person's, even knowing that he had made the right choice...

Her hand covered his. Almost. He didn't have big, large hands, like some of the men she knew, but long, thin fingers. Her own hands, petites, let the tip of his fingers be seen. They weren't big enough to cover his entirely. Not long enough.

It didn't matter.

“Maybe you are a bit touched in the head, Sirius, but you try to use it and not be used by it. And even if you would easily be able ignore the unfairness of the world, and not care in the least that it's going to hell, you still decided to act for it.”

Maybe that, just now, was the reason she wanted to be his friend, Eleanor mused.

Because he was someone remarkable, sure, but also because he needed someone to tell him what he already knew, but couldn't dare to believe too much. That he was more than just his flaws. That he had made them into strengths. That he wasn't only playing by his own rules, but also by the rules of the world.

That he was right to do what he did.

And for that, it had to be someone he didn't know since childhood, it had to be someone who saw no point in lying to him, who wasn't blinded, or simply used, to his flaws.

Eleanor hoped she could be that person.

And it seemed Sirius thought her to be, because he had opened up to her, if only a bit.

She had to do as much, because he had been honest with her so far.

“I'm not someone who like to stand out, but you made me speak up and take a stance, because I believe you can change things. Because you are right. Because I always thought and acted so, but from the shadows, when we need people who stand firm. People like you.”

It cracked a smile on his face, but she could hear a little disbelief in his voice, still.

“You could have done it. Standing up only asks for a little courage.”

The witch raised her eyebrows, but it wasn't in sarcasm. She knew very well who she was, just like Sirius knew who he really was. She knew her own flaws, just as he did his.

“You are the Gryffindor, Sirius, not me. I have courage, but not for these kinds of things. I want to be heard, but I fear to be caught unaware. Everything I do, every stance I take, is so in silence. I don't speak. I don't berate. I don't reveal the truth. I act. But action is worth more than words only in some situations. You, you act, and you speak. You explain. I don't. I never could.”

He didn't seem to believe her all that much. Oh, he agreed with her, but he looked like he'd argue. Like he was going to say that all she had to do was to try.

Eleanor wasn't against trying.

She had never known how to, though.

They said she thought too much. She agreed with them. Didn't mean she knew how to stop.

Eleanor squeezed Sirius' hand, just a bit. As if for reassurance. For him, or for her, neither were really sure about that. The fact that both of them found it comforting, just a bit, had to mean something. Neither of them saw it that way, as usual.

Eleanor stood up, but didn't let go of his hand. He stood up too as a result.

“It's okay, anyway. I'll just have to follow you.”

It was time to go home, perhaps, to go and get Harry at the Weasleys'. She was ready to leave. He followed her. Apparently it wasn't time for her to follow him yet. Maybe they could make a deal. She'd show him how to live again, he'd show her where to go to be a better person.

But because so is life, it didn't last.

They had barely walked three feet from the bench, when Eleanor stopped still. Sirius could see she wasn't moving at all, and her hand had gone rigid against his. He almost thought she had been stupefied, but no, it wasn't that. It was more as if she had seen something she hadn't planned to see here. As if she had been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to do, perhaps, and by the most unlikely person to hang around this park.

Sirius let go of her hand, and walked around her. He was right. It was surprise, and maybe a bit of alarm, that colored her face. Her eyes were fixed on the back of an indistinguishable silhouette, just on the other side of the fence isolating the park from the rest of the city.

She wasn't sure if it was him, truthfully. But this back... This silhouette... It sure looked like him.

Older than her, same year as Sirius at Hogwarts. That slytherin boy who always hung around Rosier, whom even Evan Rosier did not trust. Not that Rosier had trusted many people anyway. The pureblood surely hadn't told the other teenager his big secret, the one Eleanor had discovered unwillingly one night, when she was late to go back to the common room. If Rosier had told his classmate at the time, Eleanor wasn't sure Diana Exeter would still live.

The man leaning against the fence suddenly straightened, and turned to look at them.

Sirius's jaw clenched. In an instant he had his wand in hand. And the first thing he did was to step right in front of Eleanor. If this was deliberate... He was most likely the target, but he wouldn't risk being wrong.

Marden Burke had whispered a hissed spell already. Sirius felt something tear at his right shoulder, and before he knew it something hot rolled down his skin. It hurt a bit.

It hurt enough for him to want to lower his own wand. He didn't, though.

Eleanor had moved out of the way as soon as Burke had turned around and had comfirmed her suspicions. She wasn't in immediate danger, because the Death Eater was focused on Sirius, and because she had searched for cover. She didn't need him to stay between them.

Sirius would have hoped he wasn't wrong about that, if he had taken the time to worry. For now, he had evaluated Rowle not to be in immediate danger, and he'd have to stick with that. Worry only brought hesitation, and hesitation could lead to death or a grave injury on the battlefield.

So he didn't lose any time, and instead tested his ability to apparate.

The Black Lord reappeared right behind Burke, still spinning around. His wand whipped at the other wizard, and a large gash blossomed from the Death Eater's neck to the small of his back, almost perfectly following his spine, cutting throught the clothes easily. Sirius heard a scream, but didn't see much. He wasn't sure what exactly he had sectioned with his spell, but it sure bled a lot.

The time for him to blink the blood splatter out of his eyes, and a thick crack told him Marden Burke had apparated away. With some luck, the wizard had splinched himself worse by trying to apparate in his state.

Sirius took a moment to breathe deeply.

The fact that apparition had been possible told him this hadn't been a planned attack. If it had been, the Death Eater surely would have put up wards while he was busy speaking with Eleanor, inattentive to his surroundings. Or, well, less attentive than usual. He did see the toddler scratching a knee half an hour ago, in the corner of his eye.

Now, what was the pureblood supremacist doing in the middle of muggle London?

He shook his head. It wasn't as if he could question the man, now that he had run away.

Sirius reported his attention onto Eleanor, who had left her hiding spot and was now doing her best not to run at him and get everyone's attention. It was a miracle no one had noticed the attack amongst the muggles, but if someone looked his way and got a look of his blood-covered face...

He didn't want to call the Ministry to deal with this. If possible, as Burke had escaped, he'd rather tell no one about it, not even the Order. They had enough things to see to as it was, and he wasn't going to load their worksheet any more by not being able to take care of his own sorry arse.

Eleanor's voice got him out of his thoughts.

“Considering he was alone, he must just have stumbled on us while doing something else. We should go, though, before he decides to come back with a bunch of friends.”

Sirius gave her a non-committal “hmm”, and prepared to apparate back to Black Manor.

Eleanor had none of that, and for a good reason. Sirius may be better at apparating than the average wizard, as he had just demonstrated, but it didn't exempt him from the higher risks of splinching when wounded. He may be able to apparate to a very precise spot and everything, but still.

“If anything, I am side-long apparating you to St. Mungo's. You do not do it on your own. Not in this state.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow at her, as if to ask which state. She raised back both eyebrows, and nabbed at his wounded shoulder. The man tried to keep his wince to himself. She wasn't fooled.

“It cut right through the fabric, Sirius, and I can see the bone. You need to get treated.”

“I don't. It wasn't a dark spell, only a cutting spell. A simple knitting spell and a numbing potion will do the trick. And I'm definitely not going to St. Mungo's.”

For some reason, the witch didn't look convinced. At all.

“And you obviously are an expert at 'simple knitting spells'.”

“No, but I'm almost an expert at potions, and Sterhn can take take of a cut. As long as there isn't any black magic in it, it won't be a problem.”

He could see she wouldn't waver, so he sighed.

“Alright, you can take care of the apparition. I'll make sure I don't bleed to death meanwhile.”

Eleanor gave him a suspicious look, but surrendered, this time. She had a feeling he wouldn't bulge, and that if she insisted to take him to the hospital, he'd just go on his own. And possibly splinch himself. The whole point of the argument being he should take care of his health, it would be counterproductive.

“A lesser evil, I suppose... Now, let's go. I don't think Marden took whatever you did to him well.”

She grabbed his uninjured arm, and one second later they were standing before the large and black gates of Black Manor. After a fleeting moment of “yeah,-alright-we-weren't-ambushed-on-the-way-home”, Sirius turned around and looked very seriously at his friend.

“I answered his vicious-and-unwarranted attack with an equally vicious, but warranted one. A simple cutting spell, just like his, but mine lasted longer, and I might have slightly compromised his vertebral column. I suppose we 'll know if it went this far if, next time we stumble upon Burke, he's sitting in a wheelchair.”

The gates opened for them, and they both entered the Black domain. There was quite a walk to the Manor, and Eleanor eyed the shoulder wound warily. As if it was going to become worse or something. Not that it had to. She was certain, even if Sirius kept saying she exaggerated, that she had seen a glimpse of white earlier on. The wound sure looked deep enough to reach his bone.

How Sirius was this cool about it, she had no idea.

But at least he wasn't being stupid. As soon as they were a reasonable distance away from the gates, he called for Sterhn, who sternly popped into existence one foot away from his Master.

The house-elf apparently had more sense than his Master, because his eyes widened at the wound, and he apparated everyone right to the Manor's entrance hall. Sirius immediately fell into an armchair he could swear hadn't been there a moment ago. He totally suspected Sterhn of having pushed him down with his magic.

The way the old house-elf glared at him, Sirius figured he was better off not complaining.

“Master will not move. Master has lost much blood, and should rest. But Sterhn needs to take care of this wound beforehand. Master will not move.”

Sirius nodded slightly, just in case nodding was one of the moves he wasn't allowed to do.

Sterhn turned to Eleanor, and bit his lower lip. He seemed conflicted as to what to do. She understood that, and kneeled down to be at eye-level with him.

“Do you need me to do something, Sterhn?”

“Sterhn would not ask it of a guest if he had a choice, but there is no one else from the household present, so Sterhn would appreciate if Miss Rowle could remove the Master's upper clothing.”

Eleanor blushed a bit, or at least Sirius though she did. The light from the enchanted orbs tinged everything orange, and there was one floating right above the witch.

She cleared her throat, and accepted. As she took off his shirt, she couldn't help but stare at the several scars marring his pale skin. He had said the Reciprocation curse had negated every single thing that had happened to his body since his incarceration... Which meant these scars dated back to even before.

There weren't that many, but it was still more than she had expected.

Sirius followed her gaze, and smiled sadly. He should have thought of this. After all, not that many people knew about it. The three scars on his right arm, from when Bellatrix had attacked him during the holidays of his seventh year; the bite mark from that one time Moony had almost gotten one on Padfoot; the words his mother had carved upon his heart; and the gash on his left side where an unknown Death Eater had gotten him in 1980.

He wasn't as scarred as some people, namely, Moody, or, if he suspected right, Dumbledore himself, but he had marks.

“Don't look at them, if you don't like it.”

Eleanor gave him a dubious look, as if in defiance. Sirius wasn't sure why she would be defiant about not looking at his scars, but well... And anyway, before they got to say another word, Sirius started in pain.

With all that, he had almost forgotten about Sterhn, and the wound the house-elf was taking care of.

His eyes jumped onto the old house-elf, who gazed back at him without remorse.

“Master's shoulder hurts again, Sterhn sees. Good. There was a numbing twist to the cutting spell, that is why Master felt so good despite having a rift in his flesh. It hurt at the moment the spell cut through, but it almost immediately numbed any sensation after that.”

Sirius arched both eyebrows at that. He knew Sterhn was a good healer, for a house-elf, because he had had to patch up the Backs for about four generations, and let's just say that the Blacks tended to get bloody easily. Still, he couldn't see why a Death Eater would cast a spell at him that would save him the pain. It just didn't sound logical.

Sterhn must have seen his dubious look, because the house-elf went on, as he ran his fingers over the wound. Sirius could see its edges closing together slowly. It hurt a lot, though, and he did his best not to look at the process. He was certain it was fascinating, but he couldn't quite focus on it right now. He was busy focusing the pain away.

“Most wizards tend to overlook something that does not cause pain. It is possible that the spell was crafted that way to push the opponents into a longer battle, not noticing the damage they are taking. Knowing Master Sirius, it is a viable tactic.”

Sirius almost felt offended at that, but a tug at his skin made him grit his teeth instead.

“Master is not known for his prudence. He tends to fight to the death, if it gives him a chance to undo his adversary.”

Oh right. Sterhn was right. As always. Sirius Orion Black, Lord of the House of Black, was a moron. Remus wouldn't be surprised to learn that. He most likely knew already.

Sterhn suddenly looked up, at nothing in particular, as if he was listening to something the others couldn't hear. He tilted his head to the side, frowning, and turned slowly to the entrance of the Manor. It gave it away for Sirius.

Sterhn only reacted like that when Bella came back from wherever she had been hovering during the day. By the way, it had been a true relief to discover that the ghost didn't have to be near him at all time, even if she was bound to obey him no matter the distance. At least, that way, Sirius had been able to send her away while he met with Eleanor. His stupid cousin would always snicker in the background if he didn't.

About half a minute later, Bella hovered into the entrance hall, right through the doors. She had a hard time remembering she actually could come from wherever she wanted, still too used to be alive, and not used enough to be dead.

She merely raised an eyebrow at the scene, before speaking.

“ _It's six and a half, Sirius. Your godson is waiting at the gates with Weasley. Should I go and tell them you've been turned to mincemeat and can't come over to say 'Hi'?”_

Oh, right. Sirius had kind of forgotten about it, in between his shoulder being sliced open, and a random Death Eater attack. Though he guessed both instances came as one.

He automatically tried to stand up and not let his ghost of a cousin raise any alarm, but he only winced as his shoulder made itself known to him once more, with a massive bout of pain.

Maybe it would be best advised to completely take care of that first.

But he couldn't leave Arthur and Harry to wait outside, could he? And he certainly didn't want Bella reporting exaggeratedly and in his stead. Harry would freak out, and the Order didn't need to learn about his last encounter with a hexes-happy Burke.

Eleanor saw his problem.

“They are both keyed into the wards, right?”

“Gnnn” was his soulful answer.

The witch put down the bloodied shirt she had been holding onto all that time, and made for the exit. She was here, after all, so she could go and see them, since Sirius was... otherwise occupied at the moment.

“I'll go. Sterhn, I trust you to take care of your Master.”

“Of course, Miss Rowle.”

Sirius watched her leave the manor, but soon enough his attention was taken back by Bellatrix, who stared pointedly and in turn at the trail of blood around him, the blood splatters on him, his discarded shirt on the floor, and the house-elf busy with knitting his shoulder back together.

The wizard sighed.

“What?”

Bella gave him a mockingly shocked look.

“ _Either you two, and no, I'm not talking about you and the house-elf, but about you and Miss Eleanor Rowle, have kinky-in-a-dangerous-way pastimes, or you ran into trouble.”_

Sirius didn't even bother to glare at her viciously.

“Your buddy Marden Burke, in a muggle park, with a cutting spell.”

Bellatrix only looked mildly impressed. As in, not at all impressed.

“ _Oh. I always thought him a bit dull. Never had that special thing that makes us true psychopaths.”_

“Of course you would think that. But don't worry, dear cousin, I'm as much of a psycho as you were. It's mostly his blood, anyway. He ran away before I could do anything more... definitive, but well. It's probable he will never walk the same. If he walks at all.”

Sterhn did his thing with the skin knitting spell. It stopped any further conversation between the cousins, because Sirius did not want to bite his tongue accidentally.

One more minute, and the house-elf finished his work. He bowed, and advised his Master to go at St. Mungo's anyway before long, just for them to make sure everything was alright with his shoulder, and to validate his choice of potions for the next week. Just to be sure he wouldn't lose the use of his arm. After all, Sterhn was no Healer, even if he could heal well enough.

Sirius would have gone to Ted instead, just so that the hospital wouldn't hear about his latest injury, but he knew Andromeda'd want to know why he was concerned about his shoulder. Then it would get back to Remus. Who'd get it back to the Order. Just what Sirius did not want to happen.

Maybe he could just say he hadn't been cautious enough doing some thing or another, and had felt something a bit worrying. The Healers would probably think he had a muscle strain or whatever.

Sirius agreed with a grunt, and apparated right into his own bedroom. The Manor was warded against apparition, of course, but it didn't mean apparition was impossible. This kind of house wards actually created a wall of magical emptiness at the limits of the properties, impossible to cross in and out, but without affecting indoor apparition. It were the same wards, only, weaker, as those that stood on the frontiers of every country with a magical government.

The Weasleys twins had abused that loophole when they had all been at Grimmauld.

Sirius didn't want Harry to wonder why, on top of the blood in the hall, he was standing around shirtless while Eleanor was visiting. Obviously, though, he forgot to wash off the blood on his pants, his face, his forearms.

When he got back downstairs, using the stairs like a civilized person this time, Harry was starring at the blood on the floor, his facial expression torn between worried sick and reluctantly impressed. Eleanor slipped away with a whisper, informing him that Arthur Weasley had had to leave right away, and so had not seen the scarlet painting job. The witch was smart enough not to intrude on the discussion Sirius was sure Harry would want to have. She had escaped before it was too late, probably to the library.

Bella was nowhere to be seen either. He wasn't surprised.

Sadly for Sirius, he couldn't do as much, considering he was the very topic of the coming conversation, and one of the necessary participants.

He stopped behind Harry, and tried to look as innocent as possible as his eyes fell on the various red prints on the black stone of the floor. It didn't look very convincing, he was sure.

“Did you enjoy your day?”

It startled Harry, but the teen only turned around slowly. The dark haired boy quietly took in the state Sirius was in, and the blood splattered across his face as if he had cut deeply into human flesh while standing very close to his victim. Which, alright, he had, but Harry couldn't know that.

The teenager could only guess.

The lack of certitudes did not deter Harry from looking pissed at his godfather.

“What the hell happened?!?”

Sirius kept his wince internal. As if it was his fault a bastard from the enemies had decided to go after him, when the only thing he had been doing was enjoying an ice cream with a friend?

“I murdered an innocent in cold blood because he looked at mewrongly, what do you think?”

The adult didn't mean to sound so aggressive, but Harry had a way to be demanding that sometimes gratted on his nerves. James had been the same, a bit too judgemental at times, but back then, when they had been young and carefree, Sirius hadn't been thrown in Azkaban without a trial. Not yet. He had been able to cope with a friend acting like that.

Now, he couldn't. With a stranger, or a mere acquaintance, it was alright. They hadn't known him. They didn't know him. But with someone Sirius actually cared about, it was different. He felt defensive, more so than he used to be.

Not so surprising, when no one had come to his defense. They had had their reasons, and he understood, he respected that. It didn't mean it never hurt.

The betrayed look in Harry's eyes was enough to calm him down, even though Sirius didn't believe the teenager had any right to feel betrayed or anything. If the boy demanded to know everything and snapped at him without reason, he shouldn't be surprised to be snapped back at once in a while.

Sirius shook his head, and gestured to two armchairs, none with blood stains on it, a little further away. He gently pushed Harry in the back, and walked over there too.

“Come, let's talk. Sit down, okay?”

Once they were both sitting in comfort, Sirius took a moment to observe his godson. It was stunning how the boy looked like James, and yet not. The eyes completely broke the illusion.

It was the same thing with Harry's personality. The kid was much like his father, impetuous and brave, which were also qualities of his mother, but there were a few nuances to his traits that made him very different. Smart, yes, but not like Lily, and not like James either; a different kind of cleverness. Judgmental at times, like James, but sweet at other times, like Lily; it was curious how he managed to be so contradictory with himself, sometimes. Selfless like Lily, and a warrior like James. A bit of a smartass, too, and Sirius had no idea where this could come from. Honestly.

And then there were these two personality traits he had gotten from James on one hand, and Lily on the other hand. The ones that tended to anger Sirius a bit, even if none of the three Potters had made a habit of showing these flaws often.

Like James, Harry thought he ought to be privy to everything. Like Lily, he often tended to consider himself to be the only one to see the big picture. It could become infuriating, at times.

Fortunately it wasn't the case, most of the time.

“Listen, Harry. I was attacked while I was out in London, and I fought back. He wounded me, I wounded him harder. That's it.”

“But, you shouldn't...”

“It's not surprising, Harry. We are at war, when it comes down to that. I won't stay jailed in my own home, not again, never again if I can help it. No harm was done. I'm cautious enough, and it was really a chance encounter.”

The teen didn't look very convinced, but it was normal. His godfather had been wounded. Sirius wouldn't blame him for caring.

Which didn't mean the conversation had come to a close. There were a few things he wanted to speak about, now that he was officially Harry's guardian. Things he wasn't eager to talk about, but that needed to be said. Firstly because he thought them to be true, up to a certain point. Secondly because it was his job as an adult responsible for a teenager.

“Don't leave yet, Harry.”

The kid hadn't moved from his armchair, and wasn't going to. But he was clearly fidgetting. As James, he seemed to have the innate ability to know when the subject wasn't going to be pleasant to him. It wouldn't be to Sirius either, for the matter.

“I've heard about some of your adventures during the past years.”

Ah, crap. Harry considered disappearing into the wadded armchair.

“From Remus?”

“Not only. I've got stories from Dumbledore, too, from the Weasleys in general, and even one from McGonagall herself.”

If the theme hadn't made the teenager turn white as a sheet, that did it. He had no idea what Sirius knew exactly, but if his Head of House had spoken, he had a feeling even Sirius' past as a prankster wouldn't get him enough sympathy to survive.

“Really?”

“Really. Now, I want you to know that I am extremely proud of you as to some of the things I've been told about. Worried sick about how trouble always seems to find you, but proud. There are some things I'd rather forget you had to go through, but the way you fought your way back each time was the right one.”

Harry relaxed slightly, yet he was still waiting for the big “But”. He didn't have to wait long.

“But there are some things I want you to promise you won't do anymore. Or at least, that you'll try not to. Such as running head first into danger with only a bunch of other students.”

The teen breathed between his teeth a reluctant answer.

“Trouble does find me, not the other way around...”

The look Sirius gave him said it all: the older wizard didn't believe him on that one. Harry wondered why. It wasn't as if he had tried to go after Sirius himself, back then when he had believed his godfather to be a traitor. Ron had been taken, he could only follow.

“It's true that trouble comes to you rather efficiently, Harry, but you can't say you never went to search for it. And those times you did, were the times it could have gone a lot more wrong, had you not been so lucky and resourceful. Like that one time with the philosopher's stone.”

Harry tensed a bit, ready to defend himself. Voldemort freeloading Quirrell's head was definitely not because of him.

Sirius gave him an annoyed glare, and Harry slumped back into his seat.

“Don't make it more difficult than it already is, and listen. We'll never talk about that again if you don't want to, but we have to talk about it at least once.”

Because his godfather sure wasn't enjoying himself right now. He'd rather be done with it.

“Listen carefully, Harry. The stone had been perfectly safe, until the very moment you joined Quirrell and Voldemort in that chamber. You never wondered why the trials were easy enough, though you three obviously had the right talents? Try to put some faith in the adults, for once. The professors' trials were first of all to get rid of the small fry. Dumbledore's enchantment, however, was perfect against someone who only wanted the stone to use it, aka Quirrell and Voldepants. No matter how much they tried, the mirror would never have opened for them, and destroying it would only have destroyed the key to the dimensional space where the stone was truly hidden. Then you walked in, and hop, they had access to Flamel's stone.”

Sirius took a minute to let his godson digest that bit of information. The teenager had never considered the situation that way, it was obvious. Dumbledore had refrained from telling him, because the Headmaster hadn't wanted to burden him with that fact, when the eleven years old boy had risked his life to protect the stone, and in the end, no absolute harm had been done.

You didn't tell a child who only wanted to do the right thing that he had almost ended the world as a consequence.

“Same thing with this year. I'm not going to say a word about what happened at the Department of Mysteries, I think you brood enough over it as it is. I just want you to understand, Harry, that I am worried for you. You shouldn't have had to live this, but you did, because Voldemort wants you dead. And because the adults don't tell you everything, it doesn't mean they don't know what you think you are the only one to realize. Just... Try to speak first, when you can.”

There was an awkward silence when Sirius finished talking. Harry was thin-lipped, and the older wizard thought his godson might need some time alone. He quietly stood up, ready to leave.

Then his mother's portrait came around, saw the blood on the floor and all over her son's face, and started to be unbearable as always. Sirius tried not to, but really, she was asking for it. Not a minute later, the portrait was furiously walking away, a crimson spanish moustache painted on her face.

 


	27. Something was about to change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you dare complain about nothing happening this time. If you do, I'll strangle you.

A sharp pain in the chest woke Sirius suddenly.

It took him a good minute to realize what had happened. From the looks of his nightmares, he'd have guessed something had just gone too wrong this time... But no. It was much more important than a silly little nightmare. This pull, that he had first associated with pain, Sirius knew what it was... And it had nothing to do with nightmares.

He didn't even blink at the fact that he had fallen asleep in the sitting room, a Potter family album that he had retrieved from Godric's Hollow a few days before, open on the table. He had been showing the pictures to Harry, and then... The boy had gone to sleep, he had stayed, and most likely fallen asleep here.

Sirius still wasn't used to living a normal life, and to sleeping in a bed, it seemed. Some days, he just couldn't.

Not the time.

“Bellatrix, we've got company. Get your ghostly arse down here.”

The ghost may not hear him from wherever she was, but their link was more than enough to let her feel his intent... Which she had no choice but to obey. Sirius wasn't worried about her not coming.

Then he called for Sterhn, who went and fetched him a shadowed cloak. It was still summer, but it was also the middle of the night. And whoever hadn't come by the front gate, he didn't want to alert if they were still here, by wearing bright clothes.

Not that Sirius Black usually wore bright clothes.

He was already at the front door when his cousin's delicious voice let itself be heard.

“ _Can't a ghost enjoy the afterlife without being summoned every twelve hours? Speaking of which, it's two in the morning, Sirius. What the hell do you need me for?”_

He violently pushed the door open as he answered the first demand. It didn't really matter, though; everything in this manor was spelled so that nothing short of an army of trolls could make a dent.

“No, you can't. But it's just you, because we're bound. Besides, I haven't asked for you since... three days and seventeen hours. Don't you dare get bitchy.”

“ _It was a figure of speech, cousin dearest. And you still haven't told me why we're headed to... the East? At this hour? Do you have a friend who's camping on the property?”_

Sirius laughed bitterly at the question.

They were indeed headed to the East, when the Gates were to the West. And the worst, he couldn't just apparate there, because he didn't know the area well, and had no idea what they'd fine where they were going. He didn't think any intruder could have gotten past the wall and the enchantments upon it. It didn't mean they wouldn't have been able to get a few spells past the wards. It wouldn't have been easy to do, but it could have happened. Sometimes, all that was needed was a bit of novelty.

“Oh no, Bella, no one is camping on the Black grounds without you knowing about it, don't worry. But someone just tried to enter our property, and the wards have reacted rather... violently, dare I say. I've been woken up by the Manor, and I don't like that.”

It would take them quite a long time to get to the eastern limit of the grounds and to reach the wall. Sirius didn't think that whoever had come would still be there when they arrived. He had to investigate nonetheless.

Besides, it would have been worse if it had been to the North. If it had been the case, he'd ought to have taken a few supplies. It was to the North that Black Manor's grounds went the farthest.

Now, as to whom could have possibly be stupid enough to try and break into the property...

“Do you have a friend, in your lovely club of sociopaths, psychopaths, and other -paths, who would be likely to forget that all ancestral homes of the pureblooded nobility are under warding?”

Which wasn't something the pure-bloods could forget so easily. It was even widely known that the Black wards were amongst the most powerful and the most dangerous home wards of Great Britain. Sirius himself had spoken about it, not so long ago. Black wards were... not friendly at the best.

Bella hovered behind him, puzzled. She couldn't really see who would be so out of it that they wouldn't know about the wards, unless they were muggleborns, maybe. And it was kind of unlikely that a muggleborn would have succeeded in, and more than that, would have wanted to join the Death Eaters. So, who could have forgotten?

“ _You think it's one of the Dark L... of Voldemort's men?”_

Sirius dismissed the idea that it could be anyone else as flippantly as she had expressed it.

“Who else?”

Bella nodded to herself, deep in thought.

“ _I... I don't know who could forget about that. There are some idiots amongst the Death Eaters, but it wouldn't even be idiocy, at this point. They would be lacking a brain. I'm not sure all of them use theirs, but they sure as hell have one. But maybe...”_

Now that she thought about it, it seemed so obvious. Back when she had been alive, and serving the Dark Lord, it hadn't even come to her to question his orders, but now...

“An idea to share with the class?”

“ _Voldemort doesn't really care for the Death Eaters' safety. He could have sent one or two of them to keep an eye on the manor, on you, or maybe to scout out the wards. To see if there's any cracks.”_

“That'd make sense. Or maybe it's only one of Voldepants' cronies who decided to do that on his own, and see if he couldn't get the spotlight latter on.”

The ghost grimaced. The Death Eaters had never been the most reliable teammates. There were a few kinds of people in there, and none of them fit the bill to play well together.

There were the psychos, such as Crouch Jr. and herself, who only took orders from the Dark Lord himself, or from others such as themselves. Those did everything to please their Lord, and their Lord only. They always suspected the others of being traitors. Not good playmates material.

Then there were the people such as Lucius who did their best to stay ahead and collect favors. They were likely to try something without telling the others, and boast about it later if everything went their way. They weren't sharing people, that much was certain.

The only ones who wouldn't be likely to go on their own simply had no personality. Or, at least, they wouldn't be able to come up with an original idea, which was the case of her husband / widower Rodolphus Lestrange.

Bella shrugged the thought off. She had never loved her husband, even if she hadn't disliked him. Their marriage had been arranged. He would be an enemy if she met him again. There was no point in thinking about him now.

“ _Eitherway, I don't think they triggered the wards willingly. It was surely an accident.”_

The ghost flew past her cousin and turned around to look at him. She had never been able to walk backward when she had been alive, without tripping on something. Now that there was no more risk of tripping, she enjoyed talking face to face while moving along. Besides, it seemed to irk Sirius. Only one more reason to do it as often as she could.

The wizard arched an eyebrow at her.

“So what, one of them stumbled onto the wall and it woke me up? Do you have any Nymphadoras in your elitist faction?”

Yeah, said like that, it made the intruder sound a bit clumsy. Then again, not all Death Eaters were geniuses. Crabbe and Goyle Sr. were as far away from geniuses as possible.

“ _Our little cousin is good enough for a clumsy witch.”_

Sirius could understand whatever he wished to, Bellatrix wasn't going to say more. Not for now.

The wizard smirked a bit, apparently knowing very well what his cousin had meant by that. There was no hiding her reformed tendencies, it seemed. Oh well, if it allowed her to be partially forgiven without having to say anything outright for now, Bella'd take it. She wasn't feeling up to asking aloud for forgiveness to everyone just yet.

All in all, it took them a good hour to get to the wall that surrounded the property. Bellatrix suspected her cousin to have wished to walk, because honestly, even if he shouldn't have apparated right at the limit of the property, he could have divided the time by six by apparating half a mile away from the wall, instead of doing the whole trip. Maybe Sirius only wanted some time to wake up before he had to possibly face an intruder... or maybe he simply wanted to enjoy the hike on the grounds of his childhood memories.

Because whoever had played with the wards of Black Manor, most likely wasn't here anymore.

Unless they didn't care about their life, obviously.

So it was that, at three o'clock, in the dead of the night, a wizard and a ghost wandered by a long and high black wall, searching for a door that would lead them to the outside world.

It didn't take long for Sirius to notice the glowing lantern that pointed out the backdoor from the inside. There were several of these on the wall of Black Manor, invisible from the outside, but revealed to the inhabitants, in case of flight... Or if someone was stalking the front gate. Only Sirius had the keys, which came with the lordship.

He went first, because unlike his ghost of a cousin, the wizard didn't glow slightly in the night, and so his presence wouldn't be as obvious. They didn't think anyone was left to ambush them, but you never know.

The door was old, and hadn't been used in a few decades. It creaked. Sirius made a mental note to change that. If possible on all the hidden doors of the wall. He didn't want to be caught by a creaking secret door. He liked paradoxes as anyone else, maybe more than the average guy, but it wasn't one he intended on testing.

A quick _homenum revelio_ told him there was no one left out there. He sighed, and noted that Bella either didn't appear on the spell. Logical, in a way, but good to know. It could be of use later...

“All clear, Bella.”

The ghost hovered through the door and joined him, suspicious.

She may be a ghost now, but she wasn't keen on getting a time-delayed hex through her face if some of her former allies had had a brilliant idea. Some spells could affects ghosts, after all. She was pretty sure that Walburga had heard of a time when Sirius and his friends had supposedly turned the Bloody Baron sparkly. From what she knew, he hadn't appreciated the joke.

Speaking of which, she really should be on guard with her cousin. Sirius seemed to accept her alright, but while he could control her with only one order if she tried to betray him, his acceptance also meant she was as fair a pranking target as any of his friends.

Bella didn't want to be turned red and gold anytime soon. Walburga's portrait was the current target, and Sirius wasn't as prank-oriented anymore, but still.

Who said the Blacks were paranoids?

As no spell had exploded in their faces yet, the two cousins supposed it was safe to start looking around. Just in case, you know, one of the probable intruders had kindly left their ID behind.

Sirius called forth a strong light with a _lumos maxima_ , and they started their search.

Himself, he found three sets of footprints, and a discarded chocolate frog card. It was Dumbledore's. Go figure why his formerly proud owner had gotten rid of it. Speaking of which, did the bad guys collect chocolate cards too? If so, how did they manage with all the good guys on them?

Sirius had to forget about that life-altering revelation, though, when Bella whistled appreciatively.

The wizard turned around to look at the blurred and translucent form of his cousin, a dozen of feet to his right. She was looking at something on the ground, next to a small tree that had grown against the very wall.

“Did you find something?”

The ghost laughed drily at the question, and gestured for him to come and take a look for himself.

“ _'Something' sure is accurate, but I think you could be more precise. 'Something' has been lost by one of our wannabe intruders, that's for sure, but I think one of them must be greatly pained by that loss.”_

Bella's vagueness did the trick to trigger his curiosity. He'd have gone to look anyway, but now he really wanted to know what had been lost that would be so dearly missed. The fact that Bellatrix was laughing, no matter how drily, only added more appeal.

When Sirius joined his cousin and saw what she had seen, he guessed immediately what had really happened there. He looked up at the tree, and back at the ground. Someone had been more foolish than usual, it seemed. Though he'd give them points for trying.

Sirius crouched down, bringing the tip of his wand closer. The light it emitted revealed a dark figure on a pale texture.

“Indeed, it must be a painful loss... Do you think you can tell whose it is?”

Bella nodded negatively. There was no particular mark she could see, nothing to point out a particular suspect over another potential Death Eater. The only thing it gave them was a tone.

“ _No, though I suspect it will be hard for them to hide this loss. If someone shows up in the future lacking a left arm, next to Marden Burke in a wheelchair, it's highly possible it will be our guy.”_

Sirius stared at the severed arm for a moment, a bit dumbfounded at the way it had ended up here. Most of the blood had already soaked the earth beneath it, and he had no doubts it was the result of someone trying to climb up the tree to get past the wall. As if said tree, having grown against the wall, would be exempted from the warding. If anything, it had been included in it.

“I guess I should call the Aurors...”

“ _I... suppose...”_

Acting by the law wasn't something either Black was too confortable with. Bellatrix, because she had always been on the other side, Sirius, because he had been on the run for so long. If Sirius listened to himself, he'd apparate to the Ministry, his wand levitating the severed limb at a safe distance, with a disgusted look on his face, and he would make his way to the Auror Office while saying someone had forgotten that “thing” on his doorstep.

Somehow, he doubted it would be the socially acceptable behavior.

Not that he cared much, but still. He'd rather keep his sarcasm for something worse, if possible. He was pretty sure there was a quota he shouldn't exceed too often if he wanted to stay in the good graces of the law enforcement officials.

Still, he wasn't sure he should call them right away.

Something was tugging at his mind, some kind of idea, perhaps? Something he was sure he could use later on. Something he was sure he would need later on.

Sirius looked up at Bellatrix, and squinted.

Her ghost wore the clothes she had been wearing at the time of her death, meaning, her Death Eater garb. One of the reasons she really wasn't presentable. Her long sleeves were hiding the spot, right now, so he wondered...

“Your own Dark Mark...”

The ghost interrupted him before he could say anything else.

“...disappeared the moment I died. Don't know why, but you can always check for yourself.”

Bella bared her left arm, and indeed, there was no remnant of Voldemort's brand. It made sense, in a way, since it was more than a tattoo. The Dark Mark was a link, but the only link the ghost had to a living being right now was the Reciprocation curse, with Sirius. One person could not have two masters, and the curse apparently surpassed the mark.

Bellatrix was dead, also.

But Sirius guessed the tattoo part of the Dark Mark could have been left behind, because reasons. It wasn't the case, but it could have been...

Meaning, he had only one unlinked Dark Mark he could examinate, and he wouldn't be able to as soon as the Aurors would get here. And while he wasn't certain why it seemed so important for him to take a look at the damned thing, it did seem to matter.

He just had a feeling he'd need it at some point. The why would come later, he was sure of it.

...And even if the why never came, at least he would never wonder if he had made a mistake not investigating the mark.

“Ah, screw it!”

Bella started at the exclamation, and watched with frowned eyebrows as Sirius just sat down on the ground next to the severed arm.

She might have been a psycho, but she wasn't one anymore... or, not that much, at least. And it bothered her a bit how Sirius simply dismissed the fact that he was sitting on possibly-blood-soaked ground without a care in the world. Just a bit, because she had always known he was a bit different, that even before all that had happened, even as a child, Sirius hadn't been completely there.

She was used to it.

It didn't mean it never worried her, that Sirius was naturally a worse psychopath than she had ever become, and that despite everything, he managed live as a normal person. When she thought about it sometimes, she wondered how he could not let it consume him completely.

Other times, she understood why he had been sent to Gryffindor instead of Slytherin.

Which didn't explain why he was squinting at the severed limb of an unnamed Death Eater. She hovered closer to him, and tried to see what he was doing exactly, but he had noxed his wand. The only light they had now, under the trees, was the one that came from her.

“ _What are you doing?”_

He didn't answer, but started to poke at the useless Dark Mark on the dead arm.

“ _Sirius?”_

“Don't move, you're our only light source, and I need to experiment. Meaning, I need my wand free of lighting spells. Now, shush, I'm focusing on disgusting drawing.”

Bella didn't know what to say to that. She really had no idea what to say to that. Since when did people experiment on severed limbs they found in their backyards? Since when?

Had the arm still been attached to a live Death Eater, she'd have smacked her cousin on the head and told him off for playing with something that could potentially draw Voldemort to them. Or rather, she'd have tried to smack him on the head, failed because she was immaterial, then she'd have just kept passing through him until he got a cold, and would have told him off nonetheless.

Had this not been Sirius, she'd have been livid and told whoever it'd have been to stop with the morbid act and get their shit together, because you didn't play with dead bodies. Unless your name was Duncan Selwyn, but Selwyn was a creep, even by Death Eater standards.

Granted, Bellatrix had been a psycho, even by Death Eater standards, but still.

The facts were, it was Sirius doing the poking, and it wasn't a linked Dark Mark anymore. Bella had a feeling she ought to say something to stop him from experimenting on the severed arm, but she didn't really know what to say.

Don't poke at the dead thing? Sirius'd give her a look and would go back to whatever he was doing.

Sirius, that's sick? The guy knew very well he had a screw or two loose.

Can we go home, please?, sounded a bit childish. It'd only get her a sarcastic comment.

So in the end, the ghost waited for about fifteen minutes, as Sirius ran all sorts of tests over the dead limb. He muttered the spells quietly, and watched the results without a word, maybe only a snort here and there, accompanied by a disdainful “Obviously, because it couldn't get worse” from time to time.

Eventually, Sirius got up on his feet, and stretched wildly. Then he sent a chairful patronus to an Auror acquaintance of his, who should come to see a wall about an arm, with the exact coordinates, and something that said he was going back to sleep, because seriously, he had to bring Harry to King's Cross at eleven.

Sirius left a magical marker where the arm was, lit the tip of his wand again, and walked back to the hidden door. One moment later, he had apparated to Black Manor, and let himself fall right on his bed. He could still get three or four more hours of sleep before it was time to get up...

He woke up at eight, his brain buzzing with the data he had gained on the Dark Mark, and that he was quite certain not even Dumbledore had, since experimenting on Snape was dangerous as the guy was still alive, the link still active.

An owl from Kingsley was waiting for him. The letter said something about whether or not he had emptied his stash of firewhiskey before patronus-calling him that way, because no one should be so cheerlful about Death Eaters trying to get into their home and leaving an arm behind, especially not at three in the morning. The letter also said they were taking care of it, and would ask kindly if someone had misplaced an arm lately. Apparently Sirius was doing a good job weakening the enemy forces just by being there.

Maybe they should just use him as a scarecrow.

Sirius and Harry ate a good, nutritious breakfast, courtesy of Sterhn, and before they knew it, it was time to go.

Neither of them really knew if they were happy for the beginning of the year, Harry because he'd see his friends again, Sirius because Harry would see others kids, or sad that they would be separated. Overall, Sirius guessed it was the normal reaction when a teen left fot Hogwarts, again.

Not that he'd know.

Because it was the safest way to go, Sirius apparated them both in a dark street of London, not far from the station. Had it been a more peaceful time, he would have considered flooing to Grimmauld, and then taking a cab to King's Cross. Things were, he didn't want to risk it.

They finally passed through the barrier and got onto platform 9¾. The Weasleys weren't there yet, but apparently it was common occurrence for them to arrive at the last minute. Sirius wasn't exactly surprised, with all the kids they had, it had to be a mess every year. Though this time, there would only be two, Ron and Ginny...

Harry spotted Hermione, and went to see her. Sirius decided to be an exemplary guardian, and followed suit. It wasn't as if the Grangers had that many friends to talk to, as they were muggles. Maybe a few other muggles parents that they had recognized over the years, getting their magical kids on the train too...

At some point Sirius noticed a fuming Malfoy standing by his worried mother, and glaring daggers at Harry. It almost got the older wizard to roll his eyes. Obviously the pampered pureblooded prince would blame his father's misfortune on the Boy Who Hadn't Asked To Be A Murder Target.

He excused himself from the Grangers' side, and moved to his blond cousin.

Harry watched him go to the Malfoys with concern, but Sirius grinned at him on the way. The teenager didn't like it, but he guessed he should just trust his godfather not to be murdered on the station platform, the first day of the school year. There wasn't too much danger of that happening...

Right?

Narcissa Malfoy tensed as soon as she spotted the tall wizard coming in her direction. The crowd was dense, and tall men with dark hair weren't that rare, but she just knew it was Sirius. She had caught a glimpse of him between two families, a few minutes before.

She wasn't sure why he'd come to see her, but she could tell it wouldn't be a pleasant conversation.

They weren't on the same side, cousins or not.

Mrs Zabini frowned a bit at her expression.

“Is something wrong, Narcissa?”

The blond witch forced a smile on her face that told everything she kept to herself.

“Absolutely not, Elise.”

The black witch slowly turned around, searching for the disturbance in her perfectly pureblooded world this fine morning. Elise Zabini had managed to keep a distance from the various muggleborns and their parents so far, and she wasn't keen to see her efforts reduced to nothing. And what else than a muggle, or an aggressive Ministry employee, to make Narcissa Malfoy tense like that?

What the gorgeous black woman saw when she finally set her eyes on the face that made her friend edgy was neither of these two kinds of people. In fact, it was a wizard she recognized right away. A perfectly pureblooded man, with a perfect face, and, from what she knew, perfect skills. Hadn't he been an egalitarian, she'd have already tried to seduce him. An eigth husband wouldn't be a bad thing, and she might even try and keep this one alive...

But the Lord of the House of Black wasn't a tame stallion. Even if Elise somehow managed to trick him into loving her, it would be as likely that she'd be the one to end up dead if she ever tried to become a widow again as the contrary to happen. Elise Zabini was an intelligent woman; there were some men no one should try to trick.

The young Lord smiled at the two women and their sons, but his smile lacked the warmth he gave to other people. He certainly knew that, and wasn't doing a damn thing to change it.

“Narcissa, pleasure to see you so healthy. I don't believe you've ever presented your son to me.”

It wasn't a complete lie. Sirius was happy to see his cousin, because he actually liked Narcissa, even if he didn't agree with her about absolutely everything, and she sometimes managed to irk him to no end. He wasn't happy to see her in these circumstances, though. If only she could get past the brainwashing...

But that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon.

“Sirius... What do you want?”

Narcissa didn't pick up on the statement that Draco had never been formally presented to his cousin. They both knew why it hadn't happened. And she was quite certain Sirius knew enough about her son from his detestable godson and his friends. No doubt they always painted themselves in the best of lights, and Draco as a hateful boy.

She saw no reason to have her boy suffer from the lions' idiocy more than necessary.

Sirius' eyes fell coldly on Draco.

Narcissa's grip on her son's shoulders hardened, but Draco didn't move. He knew when to bitch about things and when not to. No matter what his parents may have said about his mother's wayward cousin, he could feel for himself that the man wasn't to be played with.

Besides, Draco still hadn't figured out why his mother had gone to the man's trial as a family member. Sure, she was a family member, but wasn't she supposed not to care about the blood traitor? If his father had been free, she'd never have gone...

Sirius smiled thinly at the teen. He had decided to give the kid a chance, but it didn't mean he would treat the brat like a prince. Whatever Draco Malfoy had done, he would need to face alone.

And for now, even if Sirius was aware he only had Harry's side of the story, the only thing he could see in the brat's face was a pathetic belief of superiority. If Malfoy Jr. wasn't a bully at school, he sure wasn't far off the mark.

A selfish sixteen-yeard-old pure-blood who thought the world revolved around him. Sirius had dealt with these enough times in his youth. Regulus had been a bit like that, too, though more reserved.

Sirius looked back at his cousin.

“I only wanted to speak with your charming son, dear cousin. To tell him he shouldn't put the blame on someone else's shoulders, unless he wants to appear as a brat. To remind him that whatever happened to his father, happened because of his choice. Whenever you take a decision, you accept the possible consequences. If you try to kill a teenager, you are no more than a murderer. If you get caught, you go to jail. After all, if I tried to murder Draco right here, just because it suits me, wouldn't you want me to go back to Azkaban right away?”

Narcissa was livid.

Her cousin was talking to her, but there was no mistaking to whom this speech was destined. To Draco, before anyone else. She was only a second receiver, thought the threat was clear to her too.

Not that she believed Sirius would ever go after a child, unless the said child was doing something Unforgivable. Draco wouldn't be targetted because of his father. But if her, Narcissa Malfoy née Black, tried anything...

There would be no forgiveness.

Sirius looked back at the blond teenager who looked so much like his father. Irony, really, considering who Malfoy Jr. hated more than even muggles.

“Now, Draco, before you try and attack my godson because you can't deal with the fact that your father is in jail for something he actually did, remember this: your father, at least, is alive. Your mother too, as it is. Destiny has a way to bite brats back, and we wouldn't want you to lose your parents, just for you and Harry to be on equal grounds, would we?”

Not that Sirius intended to murder his cousin and her husband if the brat continued to be a brat. But he couldn't really sit Draco down and tell him it wasn't kind to mock an orphan and then blame them because your father landed himself in Azkaban.

If he did that, he doubted the kid would even listen to him until he finished his first sentence.

And maybe, maybe, Sirius didn't want to try and be kind and understanding more than absolutely needed. He was done playing nice. He had been done for a long time.

Before Draco could try and say anything, Narcissa moved in front of her son, as if to protect him from her psychopath of a cousin.

The witch didn't really know where she stood about Sirius, true. She wanted them to be a family again, she wanted this stupid war to end, after all, it hadn't been so bad before, when the muggleborns had been accepted, but not really... She wanted it to stop, the bloodshed, the revenges, the hartred. She wanted to be able to disdain the less than pureblooded witches and wizards, but she didn't actually want them all to die a horrible death. If they could just keep to themselves...

She was almost tempted to tell Sirius that as far as the means went, she was on his side. She may agree with the Dark Lord about most things, but she was tired of what it had cost to her husband. To her family.

But there was one thing she wouldn't accept, and it was someone threatening her son. Even if she suspected that Sirius didn't mean half of what he said. There was a line, which he had just crossed.

So, she stood between her son and her cousin.

And she said words she didn't really think, just like he had.

Though, in the end, she thought them true up to some point.

“Someone who abandonned his family because he couldn't handle differences has no right to speak to me about loyalty, Sirius. The Blacks before anything else, remember?”

Narcissa knew it was a bit hypocritical coming from her, since she hadn't talked once to her own sister because of whom Andromeda had married, but she also knew it would hurt Sirius.

No matter how much Sirius hated his family, he loved them too. And even if he never showed it, she knew. She knew her cousin better than most people did. When they had been children, it was to her that he spoke of family. Sirius talked to Andromeda about what he hated in the family, he didn't say a thing to Bellatrix who was already sliding into insanity, he kept quiet around Regulus because a big brother is there to protect, not to project; but he told Narcissa about those he cared for.

The set of Sirius' jaw became harder, the glint of his eyes fell into freezing, and he took a step towards her. He wasn't looking at her, but behind, as if at some scene he remembered.

When he spoke, it was but a cold whisper.

“You have no idea why I left, Narcissa.”

There was a time of silence, during which the witch couldn't bring herself to move an inch.

“I don't suppose you ever found yourself looking at your sleeping parents, wondering if it wouldn't be easier to just end it all? To kill them, and not to have to quarrel ever again? I don't think you ever looked at a knife and wondered if it would be enough to bleed the life out of their throat, in the dead of the night.”

He took a step back, and looked her from head to toes. Narcissa was trembling a bit. Fear or shock, he didn't know. Right now, he didn't care.

Sirius twisted a smile at her.

“Lucky you, Narcissa. You never had to chose which way to lose your parents, because you still had a way to keep them. I didn't have that luxury.”

And he walked away, back to Harry, back to the Grangers, back to the Longbottoms who had arrived during his conversation with his cousins, back to the Weasleys whom he could see coming this way. Back to the people who didn't need to know about the dead end he had found himself in, years ago. Back to the people who didn't tear his heart apart simply by existing.

Draco, in a bout of rare worry, reached for his mother's hand, and felt the shiver that had crept upon her. He didn't know what had been told, but he could say Black's return was upsetting his mother. He just wasn't sure in which way.

Elise and Blaise Zabini had watched with guarded interest, and before someone could comment on it, they were acting as if nothing had happened. They knew that Narcissa Malfoy would never open up about what had just happened. A shame. The Black drama was a true greek tragedy.

But only a few feet behind the Malfoys and the Zabinis, another person had followed the exchange in silence. Someone who had more right to listening in than anyone could suspect.

Someone would would have liked to know why Sirius Black had bailed out on his family at sixteen. Who certainly wouldn't have liked the reason, because who could like this particular explanation, really?, but who needed a reason, much more than Narcissa herself needed it.

“Dad, you're supposed to help me get that trunk on the train.”

The wizard turned around to look at his eleven-years-old son, whose trunk was, as always, too heavy for a kid his age. Alshain had his crimson hair tucked behind his ears, and his silver eyes were staring at his father with insistence.

It was the first time Cadfael brought his son to the magical world without altering the boy's looks, he realized. It would also, probably, be the last time he brought Alshain anywhere.

They had talked about it, with Amanda. His wife hadn't exactly been thrilled, but she had been understanding. As always. If there was one thing that could be said about the ex-military woman, it was that she was surprisingly understanding.

A bit like Sirius had been, only, gentler. Amanda didn't hide it, unlike Sirius.

Maybe it was the true reason why Cadfael had fallen in love with the muggle woman that he had ended up marrying. Unlike the people he had known so far, and even while he wasn't conscious of it, Amanda White wasn't hiding behind a wall.

Cadfael helped his son to get on the Hogwarts Express. There wasn't much time left before the last families arrived, before the station was effectively flooded. He made Alshain promise to write at least once a week, because his mother would want to know how a magical school was. Then he kissed his son on the forehead, and kneeled to look at him eye to eye.

“Be kind to the others children, but only if they return the favor, alright?”

The boy nodded absent-mindedly, having heard that a few hundreds of time over the last month. He was waiting for his father to leave, because there really wasn't much else to say, but was surprised to see him search his pockets for a letter.

Cadfael looked at the envelope one last time, wondering if he was really doing the right thing. His mind told him it was an enormous error, but somehow he had the gut feeling it would all turn for the better. Last time he had followed a gut feeling, it hadn't ended well...

And for some reason, he was still doing it.

It was only fair, he supposed. If anything, he deserved what was about to come.

Cadfael looked back at his son, a sad look on his face.

“Listen, you know how we kept your mother's family name? It's not your actual name, nor it is mine, but at the time... We didn't really have a choice.”

Alshain nodded. He had a feeling this first of September would be a bigger day even than it was supposed to be as his first day at Hogwarts. Something was about to change... He just wasn't sure if it would be for the better or for the worse. It was important, though.

His father handed him the letter, but kept him from opening it right away.

“I've written both our names inside. Open it only once the night has come, would you? And don't show it to anyone until the Sorting Ceremony. It will be complicated enough after that, I don't want you to have more problems than necessary.”

The mention of possible “problems” wasn't exactly comforting, but Alshain trusted his father enough to do as he said.

Cadfael White left shortly after that. The wizard got down the train, left King's Cross, and apparated away. At his new location, he looked up and didn't move for a while. He only had one more person to see before it all fell down.

His thoughts wandered back to his family, to Alshain and Amanda. He didn't even know if he'd see them ever again. Once more, he reminded himself that he deserved whatever would come his way.

When the night fell, Alshain opened the letter. He found the truth a bit ironic, all things considered, but he liked the sound of it. He couldn't really pretend to be surprised that his father had thought it'd be problematic, now that he knew.

He looked around at the other teens in the compartment, and stopped his gaze upon the fourth year Ravenclaw, Cleopatra Rosier. They were in a similar situation, he supposed... Half-blooded members of a prestigious House.

Alshain was astonished by the sight of the Castle, and a bit nervous when he saw the hundreds of other students already sitting in the Great Hall. Hogwarts truly was a wondrous place.

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, rose from her seat. She had a list of students to Sort.

Four names, four children were Sorted. One in Hufflepuff, two in Ravenclaw, one in Gryffindor.

Then her eyes fell onto the fifth name, and the Transfiguration Professor felt her breath lacking. Her eyes wandered to the unsorted first years, and caught a silver gaze.

When she had sent the admission letters, the name had been White... She was certain of that. Why had it changed so suddenly? Why had the boy thought his name was White, up until now?

She took a deep breath, under the questioning glances of her colleagues and older students.

“Black, Alshain.”

 


	28. Let the lights out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone starts having ideas about the use of the Core in the war, I'll say this: using it is taxing, and there are rules, such as the Lord of the House of Black has to be touching it to use it, and it can't be moved. So no, it's not a reliable weapon.

Sirius walked straight back to the manor. His head was full of curious thoughts about the Dark Mark, about what he had uncovered during the night. He wasn't yet sure what he'd do with this knowledge, hell, he wasn't sure there was something he could do with it, or something he'd be willing to do with it, but experimenting on the Dark Mark had taught him one thing. No matter the spell, every magic could be undone.

Given the right amount of power, of course. And under some circumstances. And with a willing subject.

All of which he had a snowball chance in hell to find. For the amount of power needed, Sirius had an idea, but for the other two... Especially the willing subject. Where was he supposed to find a Death Eater who wanted to defect, and that he himself would want to save? Defecting was, amongst Voldepants' follwers, something the cowards did: he had no use for a weak-willed ex-Death Eater.

In fact, Sirius wasn't sure why exactly he was obsessing about the matter.

But it certainly wouldn't leave his mind alone.

He finally arrived to the manor. The night was coming around, and the little light that lit the dark walls of Black Manor had something of an ominous glow to itself. For some reason, Sirius thought this night was being gloom, and perhaps a reminder of the darker days ahead of him.

Maybe it was because Harry had left for Hogwarts, and he was finding himself alone again. He doubted it, because he had never been someone who resented loneliness, as long as he kept his liberty. And again, he wasn't completely alone. There were the magical dogs and other animals on the property, there was Sterhn, there was Bellatrix's ghost. He could even call Kreacher to have a tea party, if he wanted. Not that he would.

Speaking of which, where was Bella?

The ghost had a tendency to either wander around the grounds, or to hover in the Manor, but if there was one thing she never failed to do, it was to come and con news out of him each time he got out of the property. Because technically speaking, Bella could get out and away from him, unless he ordered her otherwise, but neither of them thought it a smart move when all the magical community would try to hex her on sight.

Bella knew he had gone to King Cross', and that there was a high possibility he'd see Narcissa there. If only for that, she should have been stalking him since he had gotten past the Gates.

But the ghost wasn't here.

Sirius told himself that maybe she hadn't noticed it was getting so late. After all, he had no idea how being a ghost affected someone's internal clock. What he knew was that she didn't need to sleep, eat or anything else anymore. It had to be confusing.

And he had told her he'd be back sometime in the evening, no actual hour. He had had to deal with some Order business first, and it had taken quite some time. Maybe Bella wasn't expecting him yet.

Sirius pushed open the main door, his mind on an edge. All these were perfectly good reasons, but the very fact that he was mulling over possible reasons made him feel like there was something wrong. If he couldn't convince himself, how could he believe there wasn't something suspicious about the lack of Bellatrix Black at his side?

And he had thought the setting of Black Manor felt ominous this evening... Difficult not to be superstitious when you were a wizard. Sirius might not believe in omens, it didn't mean he couldn't simply have picked up something weird, without actually being able to indicate what was wrong. For all he knew, this feeling of unease was his subconscious telling him he should have noticed the signs...

Right, now he was simply turning paranoid. Not that he wasn't to begin with. Just, now it was getting worse.

So... No one was trying to kill him. Probably. Or, at least, not in this time and place. Because, he was pretty certain there actually were a few people who would love to kill him, or even just see it as a beneficial event. So, to be accurate, there was probably someone trying to kill him, just, not now, not at his own place, with the heavy Black wars to guard him.

Of all the places, Black Manor wasn't the one where he should feel paranoid.

The entrance to the manor was empty, as expected. No murderer lurking in the shadows, if anything. No Bella hovering around, either.

But Sirius' eyes wandered to the dining room. The doors were open.

And he was reasonably sure he hadn't let them open this morning. Besides, if he had, he was absolutely certain Sterhn would have closed them behind him at some point of the day. So, there were no reason for the doors to be open.

Unless someone from the household had come to visit, and had asked the house-elf to keep the doors open.

Considering Andromeda would have told him beforehand, Tonks was busy playing Auror, Juliet wasn't even in the country, and he seriously doubted that Narcissa would be willing to see him after this morning, Sirius was hitting a dead-end. There was absolutely no one still alive to whom Sterhn would have obeyed, and who could be here this evening. So logically, there shouldn't be anyone in the manor aside from himself. Certainly not someone from the family. Though only Black Family members could practically be here.

But Sirius had checked the family tree. There were no other members of the House of Black besides himself, Juliet and the cousins. None who still lived, if anything. And moreover, Juliet wasn't yet a complete member of the family. There wasn't anyone els...

For one moment, Sirius was tempted to call for Bellatrix. Now he had an idea as to the reason why she hadn't come to pester him sooner. Whoever was in the manor, she accompanied. And if he called her now, he could ask her who was in there.

But he didn't call.

Sirius walked faster to the double doors of the dining room. He could hear his own blood pumping through his body, rattling at his temples. His brain was working, but into nothingness. He was thinking, true. But the thoughts never quite reached him. It was just some kind of background noise.

A very invading, very upsetting background noise.

The more steps he was taking to the dining room, the more oppressed he felt. The rumble of his thoughts pressed upon his consciousness. The sound of his shoes against the hard floor of black stone resonated at his ears. The darkness seemed a bit darker every second.

Sirius never even thought to switch on the light orbs. It wouldn't have taken much energy, but he had the feeling that if he even did one unnecessary thing, he would lose so much time that it'd be too late when he got into the dining room. That if he took one instant off, the growing void behind him would catch up and swallow him.

Those weren't rational thoughts.

Even Sirius Black could lose himself to irrationality from time to time.

Sirius passed the doors.

The dining room was dimly lit, only by the stars outside, and by the greyish form of Bella hovering near the wall of the family tree, far, far away, on the other side of the room. It seemed so far away, Sirius almost did not catch the other form standing by the wall, only revealed by the faint light coming from the ghost herself.

For a moment, Sirius thought that, perhaps, it was only himself hallucinating. It wouldn't be the first time his behavior was a crazy man's. He wouldn't dare qualify himself as sane, after all.

Or maybe Andromeda had sent an owl before coming, but he hadn't paid attention.

The young Lord Black wasn't exactly here, present, as he quickly advanced to the ghost and his visitor. Later on, he'd say he had no memory of the time between his arrival to the manor, and what would follow.

Lord Black stopped about six feet from the two others. For a time they simply watched, without a word. Bellatrix wasn't even sure there was something to say, at that point.

What could possibly be said in this situation?

She couldn't see the expression on Sirius' face. The room was too dark, the atmosphere too tense. She wasn't even sure Sirius had recognized their visitor, with the current lack of light. But she could tell, without a doubt, that her cousin had guessed enough.

A man's voice rose from the shadowed form.

“I doubt you ever believed you'd see me again, brother.”

The voice was a bit strangled. Just a bit. After all, if Regulus Black had never been as perfect a Black as his older brother, he still was a Black. A pure-blood, with pureblooded manners, and a slytherin upbringing.

There was no way he'd let all his emotions be heard in his voice, or seen on his face, just like that.

Even if it had been years since they had seen each other.

Regulus wasn't feeling good, truth to be told. His stomach felt like someone was bending it in unnatural ways, and his throat was so dry he didn't know how he had managed to sound so normal to begin with. He had let the lights out, because he wasn't sure he could quite face his brother right away, but now...

Now he couldn't see Sirius' face, and he had absolutely no idea what his brother was thinking.

For now, not seeing seemed to be worse than the contrary.

Regulus glanced at Bellatrix. She noticed his movement, and shrugged, unhelpful.

It kind of baffled him how different she was as a ghost. As a sane person, too. The sole fact that Sirius was tolerating her was proof enough that the family of now was completely different from what Regulus remembered.

A photograph from the _Daily Prophet_ reminded itself to his mind, and Regulus tensed. He had read about how using the Reciprocation curse had turned Sirius back into his old self, he had seen the recent pictures, on which his older brother looked so much younger than he did himself, but still. Regulus had that particular photograph from Azkaban printed in his skull.

He had seen it almost three years ago, after Sirius' miraculous escape. At the time, “Regulus Black” hadn't even existed in his mind, he had only been Cadfael White.

The picture of his brother in prison garb, his own family name printed right next to it hadn't triggered anything. Cadfael hadn't gotten the slightest bit of memory from that article. He hadn't felt, deep inside himself, that what was written in the article could only be wrong. He hadn't watched with anything more than mild disgust the photograph of a physically deprived man.

In fact, he had only been disgusted by himself, as his eyes had wandered to the horrid tattoo on his arm. Even as Cadfael White, he had learned what it meant, what it was. It hadn't taken him a long time to figure out that, whoever he trully was, that person was a bastard and a Death Eater. And the escaped prisoner in this article? He was someone like him. A murderer. A monster.

Cadfael White had shredded the _Prophet_ into bits, and gone to throw up in the toilets. He hadn't thought about Sirius Black once after that, unless the newspapers had reminded him of this unpleasant character.

And then Cadfael White had remembered, just as Sirius Black had reinstated the House of Black and its members, who he truly was. Why he had lost his memories. Who Sirius Black, the monster who had escaped from Azkaban, was to him.

A few weeks had passed since then, but every time he thought about the photograph, Regulus wanted to vomit. The sunken eyes, the yellow skin, the shaggy hair. The ribs, visible under the old prison uniform. The scars he knew to be there, pale against the greasy look of Sirius' skin. And still, the fire in the silver eyes.

How had he not recognized those eyes? He saw them every day in the mirror, he saw them each time he looked at his son.

How had none of the few witches and wizards he knew as Cadfael White thought he had to be affiliated to the House of Black, one way or another? Only the Blacks had this shade of quicksilver in their eyes. Only the Blacks.

Regulus couldn't help but wonder, with some fear, as they stood in the dining room of Black Manor, in the dark and unable to see anything precisely, except Bella of course, he couldn't help but wonder what, when the lights would allow him to see his older brother, his eyes would fell upon.

Logically, he knew what Sirius looked like now. Like a twenty-one-years-old version of himself, without the proofs of his time in Azkaban, eyes excepted. Still the same fire, still the same rage in them, and a pain he couldn't even begin to fathom.

But for now, they were in the dark, in many ways. And the only thing he could picture about his brother, was this photograph from the _Daily Prophet_. Sirius Black, leaning against a dirty wall, bars between him and the photographer, skin upon bones, looking sick, his hair falling darkly on his shoulders, but his eyes still as alive as ever. Fire in them. Hartred, perhaps. Mocking, in a way. Arrogant, surely. Cold, despite the fire. Freezing, even.

Eyes that told anyone who knew the truth that someone would pay for this injustice. Eyes that betrayed the disdain in them, for all those who thought he belonged in Azkaban.

To Regulus, it semeed like someone had tried to suck everything out of his brother, making him barely more than a skeleton with skin outstretched upon it, but without actually managing to take away what really made him Sirius Black.

Regulus feared, in a way, and even if it didn't make any sense, that if he switched the lights on, that was what he'd see. Like an accusation, of how Sirius had gone to Azkaban for being right, when Regulus had gotten a family and a normal life for being wrong.

He didn't dare to switch the orbs on. And Sirius wasn't doing it himself.

But the moment of silence between the Blacks eventually was outstretched too thin. It broke, like shattered glass, as both brothers finally did something. There was only so much tension a man could take. After a while, it was natural to snap.

Sirius was staring at the dark form that was supposedly his brother, standing there in the shadows. Alive, as he had known for quite some time now. Really there. Not dead. Alive. And actually present. Alive. Not just “not dead”, but alive. For real. No denial allowed anymore. Alive.

But how? But why? Had Regulus really walked away from the Death Eaters, or had he simply faked his death? Was his younger brother here to see him, or for a more nefarious deed?

Was Sirius right to be happy about Regulus' continued survival?

Why was Regulus here? Why now, and not before? Why this day?

Where had he been all this time? What had he done all these years? Arcturus may have tricked the family tree as the Lord of the House of Black, but there was no way he could have tricked the mural painting downstairs too. Something had happened to his brother, Sirius knew that much for sure, but what? What could have left him as good as dead to the family magic for so many years?

An insidious, unpleasant thought made its way to his mind. For a moment, Sirius battled it. There surely were other explanations... But even so, it didn't change the fact that, indeed, this one could be the truth. That, maybe, it was the case.

After all, what told him that Regulus had changed? He had heard rumors, after his brother's supposed demise, but since this demise was obviously grandly exaggerated, there was no telling how many of the rumors had even a kernel of truth in them.

For all he knew, Regulus might have been in a state of near-death for the last seventeen years, but not out of his own desire. For all he knew, his brother could have been put on “pause” by Voldemort for some reason or another, ready to be woken up when time needs be. Dark Magic had that kind of tricks in its sleeves, even if it was risky and difficult to do. Whatever may have warranted for Regulus Black to be put down for a time, it could have become irrelevant considering his own return in the game.

Sirius didn't care about the odds, at the moment. His mind had locked itself onto this one possibility, and all the other variations he could think of, or simply consider as possible, because nothing this good ever happened to him. The other possibilities, much more harmless, could try to make themselves known, but he wasn't listening.

There was that one idea in his mind, and it wouldn't back away.

Maybe Regulus Black had been sent to him, in the manor that a limited few could access, because Sirius Black wouldn't have taken the possibility into account. Maybe a brother would kill another tonight. Maybe he'd be taken away, for interrogation.

Because really, what proofs did he have that Regulus had changed? None.

What clues did he have which pointed to his brother's possible continued involvement with the Deaths Eaters? Too many.

Sirius wanted to take a deep breath, switch the lights on, and be done with it. If Regulus hexed him as soon as he became a better target, he'd know. If Regulus didn't do anything suspicious...

He wouldn't know either. His little brother wasn't stupid, if he could be a fool about some things. Maybe Voldepants needed yet another spy, and who could do it better than the estranged, presumed dead brother of Sirius Black? Who knew if Regulus was even there anymore, if it wasn't some twisted version of the Imperius crossed with the making of an inferi?

But if Regulus really was Regulus... If there was nothing to blame his younger brother for... Sirius couldn't just start with distrust. He couldn't feed him to the Ministry, which would without doubt send Regulus right to Azkaban.

He couldn't trust, but he couldn't deprive his brother of a second chance either. Sirius had no idea what to do. For the second time in his life, he couldn't make a decision. And for the second time in his life, he had to regardless.

Sirius didn't want to deal with all this. Regulus alive again, Regulus back, Regulus guilty or innocent... He couldn't deal with it. Not now. Not ever, perhaps.

But he had to.

Feelings clouded his judgment. He knew what happened when such things started to bug his mind. It was never a good thing. It had happened twice already, with Snape and the Whomping Willow, and with Peter. He wasn't going to let it happen once again.

So, just like he had decided two decades ago, just after his first mistake, the one with Snape, Sirius snapped. The walls of occlumency in his mind became so invasive they not only cut off any intruder, but his own brain into two parts. All that was Sirius Black enclosed itself tightly in a bunker, while the operative part of his mind took complete control.

Shut down, rationality excepted.

Regulus couldn't wait any longer. He knew, after all, that it was only his imagination playing a trick on him. He rationaly knew it, even if he couldn't feel it in his guts.

So a light orb lit up near them, and shed some light upon this awkward family reunion.

At the same moment, Sirius spoke one word. Just one.

“Regulus.”

There was something not quite right in his voice, something not quite Sirius-like, though not unheard of. Had Regulus paid more attention to his brother's tone, he'd have noticed. But he too wasn't feeling quite right. It was the first time in more than a decade he saw his older brother.

And he wasn't even sure Sirius would be happy to see him.

After all, they had been on opposite sides of a war. And there was no asking which side had been wrong in that war. Regulus had married a muggle, he should know.

He certainly knew the shame.

Bella took a deep breath, and several steps back, and up, in the air. She wanted to know what would happen now, but she had a feeling it wouldn't be a good idea to get between her cousins. Most awkward family reunion ever. The dead Black, the Black who had died and tricked death, and the Black who had faked his death, no matter if it was intentionally or not.

And they lived happily ever after.

Wait, no, it couldn't be right. The House of Black didn't do happily ever after.

Besides, if Regulus hadn't noticed the problem with his brother yet, Bella wasn't deaf, and she wasn't as involved as them in this awkward family reunion. She certainly had heard the odd inflexion in Sirius' voice. Or, rather, the lack of inflexion.

The ghost wasn't sure yet, but she had a feeling it was only the past repeating itself here. Because she had already heard this tone once, years ago, and it was probably the only time her cousin had managed to completely freak her out, without even meaning to. Considering she had been passably insane at the time, it certainly was something of an exploit.

Bella would have liked to be forgotten, right now. Just in case souslles-Sirius had a brilliant idea that involved her. Because if from what she knew of the other time, there was absolutely nothing to fear from Sirius right now, it didn't mean she knew absolutely everything about this.

And, soulless-Sirius was freaking her out alright. Don't forget that.

So, Bella took a few steps back, and fell into passive observation, hoping against hope that nothing too traumatizing would happen from now on.

You never know, after all.

Regulus was relieved to see that indeed, Sirius looked nothing like the picture that had haunted his nightmares lately. It should have been obvious, but sometimes fears weren't logical. Seeing his older brother, actually looking younger than him, while slightly disturbing, relieved him. Perhaps it was because Regulus now had the impression the last fifteen years or so hadn't really happened. That if they had happened, not everything in it was true. The most unfair moments might not be true. The most horrible instants could only be nightmares.

He shivered as the memory of dozens of cold, dead arms reached out, grabbed him. No matter how much he tried to forget, the freezing water of the lake pervading his mouth would remain true.

He couldn't pretend that Sirius hadn't spent twelve years in hell, partially because people like Regulus, people who were supposed to be family, had made such a reputation for the House of Black that no one had even wondered if Sirius was, perhaps, innocent. It wouldn't be fair.

Sirius wasn't saying anything.

It suddenly appeared, clear to Regulus' mind.

He hadn't noticed, at first, but now he could tell. There was something wrong with his brother. There was no glint in his eyes. There was no expression on his face. There was nothing sirius in Sirius. Just a hard, blank facade.

A bit like an imperiused man, but without the misty looks in the eyes.

Because here, there was absolutely nothing.

The Lord of the House of Black looked down at his brother's arm, having determined there had been enough silence, enough time lost to Regulus' emotions. Not matter if Regulus Black was here as a spy for the Dark Lord, or if it was as a genuine visitor, if the Lord wanted to be both fair and safe, there were a few things that needed to be done.

“Show me your arm.”

No tone at all. An order, but barely. It sounded more like a statement. An absolute certainty that Regulus would do what his brother ordered.

Not that Regulus had other intentions. But it didn't make him feel good. It made him feel odd. Frightened. Cold, too.

He had no need to guess which arm his brother wanted to see, though. A little hesitancy, perhaps, but no guessing work. After a second, he rolled up his left sleeve.

Lord Black barely gazed at the Dark Mark. Regulus, on the other hand, could feel it all too well. As he had ignored Voldemort's calls to all his followers for some time now, the skin under the mark was reddened and painful. That his brother was currently making so little of the branding...

And, he wasn't saying anything about the scars marring his arm. Nothing about the red, angry scar that crossed his left cheek either. Nothing even about the fact that, basically, his little brother was alive despite the appearances.

He should have known at first look. When it had happened at Hogwarts, Regulus had been doing his best to stay away from his blood traitor of a brother, but that dead look... He should have recognized it right away.

Sirius had completely locked out his own emotions. Very few master occlumens could do it, and none were insane enough to actually try. None, unless they were Sirius Black.

“If you want to live, you will need to get rid of the mark. Luckily for you, your involvement with the Death Eaters was only rumored, and never proved. If you appear now, without a Dark Mark, the Ministry won't be able to do a thing. And if we play the memory loss card, Voldemort is likely to blame its disappearance on me, not on you. I could have brainwashed you as soon as I found you, after all.”

The Black Lord turned back to the doors of the dining room. Regulus, unsure of what this... deadish version of is brother had in mind, still followed. He didn't know of any way to take off the Mark, especially not a way that wouldn't alert Voldemort. If Sirius hadn't gotten rid of everything that made him human, such as hope, right now, he'd have thought him delusional. But this Sirius Black only worked with knowledge, foregoing any kind of assumptions.

If his brother said it, then it meant there was a way to get rid of the Dark Mark.

Regulus would have been ecstatic, if Sirius hadn't turned himself into an unfeeling machine in the process.

He looked for Bellatrix, but the ghost had vanished. He didn't blame her. Only standing next to Sirius right now felt immensely wrong, as if his brother wasn't meant to be or something like that. He just felt wrong.

The two brothers soon reached the secret entrance to the hidden basement.

Regulus wasn't saying anything as they passed the first four doors of the place. The storage room, where every illegal possession ended up at some point, the laboratory, where the Blacks studied the darker sides of magic, the danger room, where the family members went when they couldn't control themselves anymore, the monitoring room, where the Lord called the family and controlled the wards. The youngest of the Black brothers had only ever walked into two of these rooms, and he certainly hadn't gone into the last room of the hidden basement. Only the Black Lords had access to the Black Core room, and only them could allow another family member in.

Now was his time, it seemed.

It wasn't exactly reassuring.

If robot-Sirius had decided it would be better to get rid of the possibly-a-threat / returning-from-the-dead / not-quite-sure-if-sincere little brother, there was no better place than the room of the Black Core. After all, no one ever went in there... And there was enough magic around to take care of the remains without even needing to do a thing.

Not that his big brother had a reason to get rid of him like that.

Right?

When the last door in the corridor opened before Sirius, Regulus felt a strong shockwave of dark magic, of Black magic, get out. He suddenly had the urge to get back upstairs, to get back in time, to this morning, and just forget about going to see Sirius to reveal his continued existence. Not that Sirius, and possibly a number of former... ah, colleagues, too, wouldn't have tracked his cowardly arse as soon as the news about Alshain would have gotten out, but still.

But Regulus only followed his brother inside the dark room, without a word. Sirius was freaking him out right now, his internal organs were playing hide-and-seek without his permission, and the heart of Black Manor reeked so much of dark and powerful magic that even as a Black he was feeling sick, but Regulus only followed his brother. Somehow he felt compelled to.

Sirius had said to follow, so he was following. Because there was no alternative.

Regulus was standing behind his brother, who didn't seem affected by the atmosphere at all. He wondered if it was because Sirius had turned everything off except his rationality, or if it was because of who his brother was. The Blackest Black in generations, perhaps, and on every point.

He'd never get an answer to that question, he knew it.

Even if Sirius decided to become a human being again, he would never talk about that. Never.

Regulus finally looked past the shadow of his brother's form. He couldn't ignore the faint light in the center of the room, just before his older brother, just on the other side, anymore. After all, it was the very reason why Sirius had taken him here. This dark silver light was the Core.

Regulus took a step to the left, so that his older brother wouldn't be hiding the Core anymore.

It looked a bit like a human-shaped light, about ten feet high, head turned to the ceiling, feet hovering a few inches above the floor, hands joined together in a blurred heap of dim light, powerful, but at the same time, dark. The very heart of the House of Black. Power, light and darkness, all at the same time.

Regulus only knew what everyone in the family knew. That is, not much. The Core was what allowed Black Manor not to rely on external sources for its wards, the Core was the energy that allowed most of the manor's magic to remain without inputs from the family members, the Core was semi-conscious, a sort of memory of all the Blacks to had ever lived. The Core had appeared after the first Black's death, millenia ago, and it had only grown steadier with every generation.

No other family had ever talked of such magic.

The Black Core was a mystery more than anything else.

It was also one of the most powerful sources of magic in the world. If the energy from the Core didn't suffice to remove the Dark Mark, nothing would.

The inhuman figure looked down, right at Sirius. The oldest of the brothers looked at it for a moment. His face was neutral.

Then he spoke.

“One of your children has been branded, Halóno, as a slave by their master. And I need your power to undo his work.”

Regulus was more than surprised when the light figure responded with a voice made of a thousands voices. It seemed as if all the lives of the House of Black had been reunited in that strange being, barely dominated by another voice, stronger, older, different. The whole underground room resonated to the point he could barely understand the answer.

_“ **We will lend you the power of the Blacks to undo the slavery of our kind, Sirius Orion Black, but I hope for you that you can handle to have access to such power.”**_

The oldest brother's face remained expressionless, but he raised his hand and showed the ring of lordship, as if as an answer.

“I am the Black Lord, Ancestor. I bear the ring. Our family power is mine to use, as long as you allow it. I will not break under the pressure, that I can assure you of.”

For a moment, Regulus thought the shadowy light was actually smirking, but of course he was wrong. How could a shadowy light that wasn't even really conscious of itself smirk, and even if it could, how could it be seen when it was only made of dark silver light?

_“ **The ring will allow you control, that much is true. And you are more than the usual Lord Black, twinless twin of the Blacks, aren't you? But try not to destroy your brother in the process, Sirius Black.”**_

“It is not my intention.”

Regulus certainly hoped so. He didn't want to be annihilated by the overwhelming power of the Black Core because of mishandling. He had made peace with himself, had agreed that he deserved whatever would happen to him, after what he had done during the first wizarding war. But he drew the line of karma at being killed by error.

The mysterious figure of the Core unjoined its hands, and held one for Sirius to take. The Lord of the House of Black seized it without hesitation, then turned to look at his younger brother.

Regulus almost took a step back as he saw his brother's eyes glow a powerful silver, as if lit from the inside by the power the Core was landing him. But Sirius reached for his left arm, and Regulus let him grab it, just where the Dark Mark laid.

The Core was back to looking at the ceiling. It didn't seem to be quite there anymore...

“ **Close your eyes.”**

Regulus could only obey his brother's voice. Only it wasn't solely his brother's. It sounded to him as if the Black Core had hosted itself into Sirius, speaking hundreds of voices at the same time, with Sirius' a bit more present, just as the first Black's voice had been slightly predominant before.

Just when he'd thought it couldn't get more disturbing.

The Lord of the House of Black started his work, using the power of the Core. Regulus would never be able to tell how much time it took, how many moments went by before he finally felt the Dark Mark dissipate. For what seemed like hours, Lord Black pulled at various strings of magic between the brand and Regulus' soul. The power of the Black Core acted as a blade, eventually cutting these strings with a single move, or as a shield, negating the devoring pain that tried to invade the host every time the link was prodded.

It hurt a lot. But somehow Regulus couldn't really feel it. His mind had gone into a place of infinite numbness. He felt, but it didn't register.

Once he wondered if it was painful or tiresome for his brother too, to do this. He wasn't even surprised when the thought died away, as if strangled clean before he could even hypothesize the begin of an answer.

It hurt, but he felt as if he was no more than a baby being cradled by his mother, while her voice sang a sweet melody. Regulus never wondered if that had actually happened at some point of his life. He would have guessed that it had, because Walburga Black wasn't heartless, despite everything, but he did not wonder at the time. Wondering about it might have hurt, and everything that hurt was dimmed.

The idea that perhaps it was Sirius' subconscious trying to protect him through a difficult time, making room in his spells for comfort, was soothing.

Then it ended.

Regulus blinked as his knees fell under him. He just fell.

Sirius had let go of his arm. The older Black was standing, eyes unfocused, but standing, unlike himself. The Core was the one to let go of Sirius, not the contrary, Regulus noticed. On the blurry face of silver light, there was something that looked a bit like a sad smile.

Then again, it was possible that Regulus was imagining things, again.

After all, how could a semi-conscious figure of the past generations of the Black family smile?

Sirius' eyes focused. Regulus' older brother sighed. Or was he preventing himself from throwing up? Hard to tell. All color had disappeared from his face, that much was certain, and the...

Was that blood running down his nose?

Regulus managed to get back on his feet. The world wobbled a bit, sure, but he was standing again. He reached for Sirius, just as the young Lord put a hand under his nose and pitched his nostrils together, as if to stop the bleeding. But before the younger brother could say a word, his left sleeve was rolled up, and Sirius looked all-business again.

“Good, it's gone.”

Regulus looked dumbly at his forearm, wondering what it was about again. For a moment he couldn't find an answer, especially as it was obvious that all his scars were still there, criss-crossing his left forearm just as it did on the right one.

He looked back at his brother, about to ask what he was talking about.

Then it all dawned on him, and he wondered how he had managed to forget, even if for one minute.

His eyes searched his forearm again.

The scars from the inferi were there. But that was all. The Dark Mark had disappeared completely. Nothing left to remind him of its long presence, except in his own memories. He wasn't hurting, the skin wasn't red, there were no shadow image of the brand.

He'd have expected it to leave something of a reminder behind, but no.

“How did you...”

Sirius opened his mouth to answer, and Regulus immediately knew he did not want the technical explanation just yet. Maybe never. Especially not now that Sirius was running on nothing but rationality. There were some things no one wanted to hear about the link between their own soul and a dark brand, and this Sirius wouldn't stop at consideration.

“Nevermind. What do we do now?”

The Black Lord seemed to consider it for a moment, before answering with a question of his own.

“It depends. Where were you all these years? And what are the scars from?”

“I got dragged down a lake by a bunch of inferi in 1979, but I somehow ended up stranded a few miles away on a beach, without a single memory. I married a muggle woman, Amanda, and became a father. I remembered everything when you updated the family rings, though. My son, Alshain, went to Hogwarts today, and here I am.”

Said like that, it all seemed very simple. Which it wasn't, of course.

Lord Black looked at his brother for another short time, completely expressionless, as he processed the news and came up with a believable official story.

“My guess, the bottom of the lake was out of the anti-apparition wards. Now, we're going to St. Mungo's, to get your inferi-induced wounds treated, since it has never been done. You have no idea of who you are, almost no memories of your life before your loss of memory. Flashes, mostly. I found you while investigating something strange on the family tree. And obviously, you've never had a Dark Mark branded on your arm. From what your older brother told you, you simply ended up a side-casualty during the first war. Now, roll up your sleeves, we're going.”

And with these words, Lord Black dragged Regulus Black back to the ground floor, before heading for St. Mungo's. Regulus Black himself was back in the wizarding world, but he felt as if his older brother wasn't here anymore, when he looked at the expressionless eyes of the man.

 


	29. The latest Black scandal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, I wrote a one-shot not long ago, "Trial of a rat" ( which I at first planned to title "Ratting him out") about Sirius catching Peter back in third year...

The day had been somewhat goodish for Rufus Scrimgeour, everything taken into account. Meaning, yes, sure, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hadn't been taken down yet, no new Death Eater was in Azkaban, but on the bright side, no one had died this day. It wasn't always the case.

Rufus Scrimgeour could say he was kind of pleased with his day so far.

The fact that some masked fool had tried to sneek in the Black main property, leaving a literal arm behind him for the Department of Mysteries to study, at the beginning of the day, had been a great start, too.

The Minister for Magic should have known this day was too good to be real.

Scrimgeour had been about to walk out of his office, about to go home, when the news hit him flat in the face.

There was a kid named “Black” at Hogwarts, this year.

A young boy with silver eyes.

And from what Scrimgeour knew, there were only two people who could be the boy's father. Either Sirius Black had somehow gotten out of Azkaban twelve years ago without anyone knowing about it, only to go back there afterwards, which, frankly, didn't seem all that plausible, or Regulus Black wasn't as dead as everyone seemed to think.

Not that a body had ever been found. So yes, Regulus Black could be alive. It was possible.

Only, it didn't explain how the Black family tree had told the world otherwise... Unless Arcturus Black had meddled with that too. It wouldn't be a surprise. The Blacks were a bunch of damned and dangerous lunatics who, unlike most lunatics, didn't lack a brain.

Some even less than the others. Arcturus, Alphard and Sirius Black all fell into that category.

Moreover, they couldn't care less about the law. All that mattered to these people was whether or not the end justified the means in their own books. If the latest Lord Black was more or less agreeing with the laws, it was only because he didn't share his family's points of view on many things.

Scrimgeour wouldn't count himself lucky on that point yet.

Now, ignoring that Arcturus Black had possibly tricked everyone into thinking his grandson was dead, it still left the question of “Where-the-Hell-had-Regulus-Black-disappeared-to-all-this-time?”, with the added bonus of “Do-we-have-to-worry-about-his-activities?”.

Because even if no one could affirm that the youngest Black had been a Death Eater, there was more than a lingering question to it. Everyone was certain it was the case, they just couldn't prove it.

Then again, it had been the case with his older brother too, and how had they been wrong!

Even if the Minister for Magic was convinced of Regulus Black's guilt, he couldn't exactly act upon it. Not without anyone wondering if, perhaps, he wasn't doing the exact same thing to the youngest brother, as what had been done to the oldest.

Really, what Scrimgeour would be able to do, it all depended on Lord Black's reaction. If the older brother backed him up, it would all go smoothly. Or, at smoothly as possible. With pure-bloods, nothing was ever smooth. And with the House of Black, it was always worse than not-smooth.

But if Sirius Black decided he wanted his little brother more than he wanted justice, then everything would either go to hell, or Scrimgeour would be forced to let the youngest Black go free.

Not free of surveillance, obviously, but free nonetheless.

While the Black Lord was obviously against anything death-eaterish, while the Minister for Magic was certain that Sirius Black stood against everything his family represented during the last decades, Rufus Scrimgeour also knew that, in the end, Regulus Black was the man's little brother. And Black had already lost so much...

Nothing said that he wouldn't want to keep this one little reminder of happier times.

Perhaps, even, Lord Black would think he'd be able to turn his little brother back into a good boy.

Sirius Black was as rational as a man could be, but there was a limit to everything.

Freaking Blacks.

Scrimgeour grumbled something incomprehensible, and turned around to look at the two Aurors who were always tailling him, just in case.

“We are going to Hogwarts. Now.”

Savage and Fell shared a long-suffering look, both having met with Sirius Black since his come back. They had seen the hassle that it was, to deal wih the current Lord Black, and they didn't envy the Minister at all. If Black decided that he'd keep his brother, then there was nothing the Ministry would be able to do.

Not with what they had on Regulus Black right now. Meaning, only suspicions.

The Minister for Magic and his two Aurors walked across the ministry at such a pace and with such faces that everyone simply stepped out of their way. People wondered what it was about, this time, but they never quite guessed. After all, it wasn't an uncommon sight these days.

It took only a minute for them to use the floo network out of the ministry, and into Hogsmeade. There they walked out of the public chimney, and the Aurors shared a glance towards three people they knew to be involved in some unsavory activities, but who, for now, were only sharing a butterbeer inside the Three Broomsticks. Their eyes met through the glass window, but it didn't go any further.

The three possible Death Eaters were surely wondering what the Minister for Magic was doing here at this hour. They weren't a threat right now. Especially not as they had quite certainly gotten their own children to the boarding school this afternoon, and so hadn't bothered to hide their identity.

It would be too risky for them to act now.

It took almost one hour to reach the castle, and get an interview with Dumbledore. It was the first day of school, and the kids had to go back to their dormitory before the Minister could waltz in. If they got lucky, the headmaster would have kept his newest problem student near. There was no doubt that the Ministry would intervene, after all, and it's so much easier to simply leave the boy waiting than to go and get him once he'd be out of the Great Hall...

But when Scrimgeour entered the Great Hall, there was no child in sight. Only the Headmaster and the four Heads of House, in a quiet discussion.

Snape looked like he was taken by a bad case of diarrhea, but it was nothing new, so there was no point trying to read something from him. The Minister for Magic, former Auror, shifted his focus onto the others. He didn't bother with Albus Dumbledore either, because the older man was simply unreadable in his best days. So when the Headmaster was on his guard, Scrimgeour just knew there was nothing to find.

The three other professors, on the other hand, weren't as guarded.

Minerva McGonagall seemed a bit tense. Filius Flitwick glanced at the Aurors and the Minister every now and then. And Pomona Sprout was wriggling her hands.

It was odd, to realize that all this agitation came from only one child.

One child who went by the name of Alshain Black, though. In the current situation, it made more sense than it could seem. The Blacks were radioactive.

Scrimgeour reached the professors with a scowl on his fae, just thinking about it.

“I need to speak with the child, Headmaster.”

Albus Dumbledore looked at him for a moment, before answering, with steel in his eyes.

“No, you don't.”

“You will let me speak with Alshain Black, Headmaster, or Merlin help me I...”

The elderly wizard lifted a hand.

“I already spoke with the child, Minister. He has been most cooperative, by the way. All you need to know, I will tell you. But you will not interrogate Alshain Black, not today, not at this hour. Your Aurors may come back later in the week, at an appropriate hour of the day, if you wish. But if you try to force my hand, I will personally see you out of my school.”

Scrimgeour gritted his teeth, but didn't complain. Not yet.

He was used to the Headmaster's obstinacy. And it would always be time to ask to see the kid again, if Dumbledore didn't tell him everything he wanted to know about Alshain Black and his father. If he insisted now, on the other hand, the old wizard could simply refuse to speak, and since he had the authority to make him leave the grounds...

“What can you tell me, Headmaster?”

The elder wizard spared a thoughtful glance at his colleagues, but soon enough he was back into a starring contest with the Minister for Magic. There was no doubt that neither of them would back off. Where Cornelius Fudge would have looked away, Rufus Scrimgeour never did.

“Alshain Black's father suffers from amnesia since a long time, but his description matches a member of the House of Black, more particularly Regulus Black. Just under six feet, long black hair, silver eyes, a red scar running through his left cheek and well into his neck, and a few others on his arms and legs, from what Alshain told me. No idea as to the reasons of these scars.”

Savage snorted from where he stood, just a few meters away.

Albus Dumbledore arched both eyebrows, and looked at the Auror, who suddenly became squirmish.

“Do you have something to comment on, Auror Savage?”

The younger wizard cleared his throat, ill-at-ease all of a sudden.

“It's just, ah, that I have a pretty good idea of how Regulus Black could have gotten these scars, considering that he really doesn't remember a thing, which I'm not really buying, at least not until I get a look at him. The youngest brother wasn't exactly known for his muggle-friendly attitude, back in the days. Just as the oldest brother wasn't exactly known for agreeing with his family's views.”

Snape mumbled something there, but as much as Hannah Fell would have liked to hear what the “reformed” Death Eater was saying about either of the Black brothers, the Auror didn't manage to hear anything.

Minerva McGonagall intervened here, looking stern as always, and perhaps a bit pissed at the other Auror.

“The last time the Auror Office made assumptions, an innocent spent twelve years in Azkaban, Harold Savage. I have nothing against you doing your job, but I think you'd be able to better judge Regulus Black if you went to see him in person, rather than to simply babble on a situation you know nothing of, and that you should thus investigate properly.”

Scrimgeour raised a hand to stop Savage from saying anything, even if the man only seemed miffed enough to pout. The Minister for Magic couldn't say there was no logic in McGonagall's words, and he could hear in her tone that she wasn't defending the youngest Black, despite what it could sound like. It was more likely that the witch was still sick with what had happened to her former student, and didn't want a repeat.

Frankly, Scrimgeour didn't want one either, if not for the same reasons.

If they arrested Regulus Black, he wanted it to happen the right way, so that no one could contest the decision. The Ministry didn't need another trial of Black vs. the administration.

So, he asked the only reasonable question, one that followed directly the transfiguration professor's speech.

“Did the child say where we can find his father?”

Dumbledore waited an instant before answering, his eyes expertly assessing the Minister for Magic's mood.

“Alshain, his mother, and Regulus Black live in a suburb of London. Apparently Regulus has been going by the name Cadfael White since he woke up, without memories, on a beach where Amanda White was spending her holidays.”

Scrimgeour raised an incredulous eyebrow as Dumbledore produced a piece of paper with the address on it. Regulus Black had married a woman named “White” of all people? Life must be mocking the man, if so, because this was too much irony.

The Minister for Magic nonetheless pocketed the address. For all the irony in the situation, it didn't mean it was false. No one would be stupid enough to invent such a story, right?

“Thank you very much, Headmaster. Now, if you would excuse me, but I have an interrogation to supervise...”

“Wait another moment, Minister.”

Albus Dumbledore's voice rang in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, and cut Rufus Scrimgeour in his action of turning around and walking back out of the castle. The Minister for Magic slowly pivoted, again, on his heels, and took all his time to stare at the various professors present before his eyes went back onto the Headmaster's tall frame.

“Is there something else I need to know, Headmaster?”

“Before you storm into the Whites' residence all wands blazing, you should consider that Amanda White is a muggle.”

This, if nothing else, got a reaction from the Minister and his Aurors. They simply stared, unable to speak, at the elderly wizard, as if he had just told them that You-Know-Who had had a change of heart and had decided to become a ballerina.

And before anything else could be said, a patronus came in and towards Hannah Fell, in the form of a grumpy tiger, who apparently hadn't gotten enough sleep these last days. Scrimgeour noted that he should perhaps speak with Robards about Flume's timetable. One of the youngest Aurors, the guy was “forgetting” to get some time out lately, as if his constant presence at the Office or on the field would make him more useful.

“ _Sirius Black just came into St. Mungo's with a stranger who looked terribly like his younger brother Regulus Black. Right now, the guy is being taken care of for various remaining scars from what looks like inferi-related injuries, if the Healers are right, as well as for a probable head trauma. I don't know what happened to him, but if this is really Regulus Black, I'm more than surprised that he survived.”_

Savage and Flitwick had gone white as a sheet when they heard the words “inferi-related”, and frankly, Scrimgeour himself didn't feel very well. If that was the reason for the scars, Savage's theory would take a heavy hit.

The people who had been victims of inferi during the first wizarding war weren't usually Death Eaters, but more likely those whom He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wanted, not only dead, but torn into pieces. It wouldn't be much of a stretch to consider that the traumatism left by such an attack could cause amnesia.

Scrimgeour sure as hell wouldn't want to remember being attacked by a bunch of inferi. They tended to grab you and never let you go unless someone managed to destroy the head or the heart. Whatever had happened to Regulus Black, if the Healers were right, he had surely been caught by a large number of inferi, and the only way he could have gotten away would be a lucky apparition, at a moment no inferius was touching him...

It took a moment, but eventually Scrimgeour barked an order to his Aurors, who protested loudly but obeyed nonetheless.

“I am going to St. Mungo's, and you two are going to see Amanda White. You check her house for anything remotely suspect. Then you take her with you to the hospital. I'm certain she'd be relieved to see her husband, and perhaps her presence will make Regulus Black more open.”

“But, Minister, we cannot leave you alo...”

“You can, and you will. I am more than able to fend for myself, thank very much, and I want to know the bottom of this story. These damned Blacks are always making it difficult for us, but I won't let this situation turn sour. So we are taking care of it now, and we aren't losing time over my security.”

Savage and Flume glanced at each other in dismay, then back at the Minister for Magic. The look Scrimgeour gave them was apparently enough, because the witch of the duo immediately took the address he was handing them, and in a matter of seconds, they were gone.

Before leaving himself, Scrimgeour turned around to look at the professors.

“What House did you say Alshain Black was Sorted in?”

Dumbledore gave him a pleasant smile.

“I did not share this information, Minister, but the young Mister Black is now a student of Slytherin House. He made his entry rather remarkable, as it is, since he basically told the young Mister Malfoy that his mother is a muggle and that he would not tolerate any insulting words from anyone, before procedding to utterly ignore the ones who protested.”

The Minister rolled his eyes.

“Just like his uncle, then. Great. As if we didn't have enough problems with the adult Blacks.”

Scrimgeour left Hogwarts with a growing headache, and what felt like a permanent scowl on his face. He should have known this day couldn't be that good. He shoud have.

When he entered St. Mungo's, it didn't take him long to find where the latest Black scandal was happening. Regulus Black's room had basically been quarantined by the Healers, not because his case was potentially contagious, but because Rita-Skeeter-clone-n°1, a red-headed witch who revealed in juicy news, and Rita-Skeeter-clone-n°2, a smallish woman with the apparent ability to sniff out selling stories, two journalists who had gotten the job after the original Rita Skeeter had left the field without explanation, were already lurking around, and let's not speak about the curious onlookers.

Scrimgeour finally noticed Marcus Flume, standing just outside Regulus Black's door, and right next to Sirius Black, who was sitting on a bench in the corridor...

Looking blank.

The Minister for Magic had no idea what to say, other than that Lord Black was looking alarmingly blank.

Immediately he took the Auror by the arm, and whispered not to be overheard.

“Black was the one to bring his brother in, right?”

Flume stared at the Minister for a moment, trying to figure out which Black was “Black” and which was “his brother”, considering that both were Blacks and both were each other's brother.

“Yes... From what I've been told, they arrived about thirty minutes ago, Lord Black almost dragging his confused brother all the way from the entrance to the nearest Healer. Then he forced Regulus to show his arms, which were red with old lacerations that didn't want to heal up, and he said something about a memory loss. There was a bit of a commotion at some point, because someone recognized the younger brother, and then it all became very confusing, their words, not mine. The Healers are saying it is really Regulus Black, and his injuries are filled with, wait for it, sixteen-years-old inferi residue, which would explain why it's this red even after all that time. They are checking him up, right now.”

“You said he had to roll up his sleeves. No Dark Mark?”

Flume seemed flustered by the question, but really, it was more about the state said arms had been in last time he had taken a look. It was nothing like a big, gapping fresh wound, but it looked painful enough.

“No, Minister. I've checked myself, but all there is is a whole lot of scar tissue on his arms, and not only his arms, because the legs are no better, and there is some more across his torso and his back. Otherwise he looks healthy, but it's still rather yucky...”

Scrimgeour did not arch an eyebrow at the youngster's choice of word, but that was because he was too busy keeping an eye on the oldest Black. He didn't like the look in the man's eyes.

Or rather, he didn't like the absence of any look in the man's eyes.

Besides, said not-look still managed to be quite eerie, even when it wasn't here.

“Did you check Lord Black for any controlling spell? Could his brother have, I don't known, imperiused him not to act upon his reappearance?”

Flume glanced at Sirius Black, still sitting, motionless, on his bench. The mere sight made him shiver, and he looked back at the Minister for Magic.

He had rarely seen someone so still and who wasn't a corpse.

“A Healer examined Lord Black when the agitation died down, but there is nothing. Perhaps he is just shell shocked...”

The Auror didn't seem that convinced with his explanation. He had seen a few shell shocked people in his life, and none had ever reacted like that.

Sirius Black seemed simply not to be there. He wasn't numb or panicked, he wasn't reacting slowly. No, when Marcus Flume had asked him for details, he had given them right away, a story about how he had been searching for his brother since his family tree had reacted oddly to the update. Black seemed totally alert and well, in a way, but at the same time he didn't seem here.

There was no tone to his words. No light in his eyes.

It was as if his body and brain were on autopilot, while Sirius Black, soul-side, was locked away.

Which was pretty suspicious considering that his possibly-a-follower-of-You-Know-Who of a brother had just reappeared. Sure, the youngest Black brother didn't have a Dark Mark, but it was safe to consider it didn't mean anything more than that he hadn't been one of the closest Death Eaters. Only a handful of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers were marked, in fact. The ones who were either clever enough not to get caught, or dedicated enough that they didn't fear being branded and recognizable.

Flume could totally understand that the Minister for Magic would see Black's unusual attitude as suspicious of the other Black's actions.

The Auror caught sight of the Healer who had looked at Lord Black earlier on, and gestured to her to come and see them. The witch looked uncertain for a moment, but it didn't seem like she had a patient to look at right now, because she eventually joined the Auror and the Minister for Magic.

“Healer Heathcliff, could you tell the Minister what you told me, about Lord Black's state?”

The woman glanced briefly at Scrimgeour, then at Sirius Black, before her gaze fell back on Flume. A twitch disturbed the right corner of her mouth when she looked at the Black Lord, and she grimaced at Flume just before answering.

“Everything checkable, I checked. He hasn't been subjected to any kind of magic, dark or not, lately. He has used a vast amount of power, though, but nothing with mental effects. Whatever caused him to end up this unresponsive emotionally, Black did to himself. Personally, I think he couldn't cope with his brother's return, and he just shut everything down in here.”

She pointed to her own head, and shook it right afterwards.

“How he did that, however, I have no idea. Mental power, probably, perhaps occlumency. I'm not really surprised, considering what happened to that journalist who tried to get in his head after the trial. It took us one whole week to sort her out, and she will still have problems with his memories for a while. Black got it all in his head, too, but he's mostly stable, it has to say something about his mental strength.”

The Healer's eyes flittered back to the silent man on his bench, and she cursed under her breath. It made Flume jump in surprise, and Scrimgeour frown. The witch pushed her way to the oldest Black, and tried to get him to come with her. The wizard only looked at her mildly, and stood up only to head for the public restroom.

He was bleeding from his nose, his ears, and a bit from the eyes too.

“I am perfectly fine, Healer Heathcliff. I may have overused my magical abilities sooner in the evening. There's nothing you can do, but to let it bleed.”

“Bullshit there's nothing to do!!! I don't want to have to deal with two Blacks in St. Mungo's, just because you aren't being carefull enough. You know what could happen, if you're wrong and this is worse than you think it is?!”

“I'd have started convulsing about twenty minutes ago if I was wrong. I will just go and clean myself up.”

“But...”

Black was already walking away. At the sight of the tears of blood on his face the curious crowd parted up. The Healer tried to follow him.

Scrimgeour relaxed a bit when the man walked away, letting go of a tension he hadn't even been aware of. There was something really, really eerie about this Sirius Black, and he didn't like it.

The Minister for Magic looked at the room where another Healer was dealing with Regulus Black's old wounds. He really had to speak with the wizard, but he just knew that he wouldn't be allowed in without a family member or another legal representant. Not with the suspicions that fell onto Black.

He was about to resign himself to wait for however long it would take for the older Black to come back, without ghastly trails of blood on his face, when the onlookers once again parted way to let someone through. Scrimgeour was almost certain he heard a shriek or two as it happened.

And indeed, it was Bellatrix Lestrange's ghost making her way to the room. Now wonder someone had shrieked. The Minister himself tensed at the sight of one of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's most dedicated followers, even deceased and supposedly saner as she was.

Scrimgeour did not envy Sirius Black for having the ghost dumped on him. Even if the two somehow managed to put their disagreements aside, it still was bad publicity.

He was quite surprised that the ghost would be out in the open so soon after her death...

Then the Minister saw who was walking behind the ghost, and he understood.

Andromeda and Nymphadora Tonks had certainly been told about their returned cousin by their deceased sister / aunt. The eldest member of the House of Black alive didn't seem to care about her sister's inconvenient reputation, totally focused on her youngest cousin who had suddenly been brought back from the dead. Nymphadora Tonks, on the other hand, glanced at her aunt now and then with an uneasy look on her face.

When the two witches reached the door, there was a moment of silence, which was used by the two oldest in the corridor to stare the others down. Then Andromeda Tonks née Black gave the Minister a tight smile, and pushed the door to her cousin's room open. The ghost of Bellatrix Lestrange simply avoided any eye contact. She wasn't one to back down, but it really wasn't the time to get kicked out of the hospital.

Nymphadora Tonks gave a wan smile to Marcus Flume, as the colleagues entered the room too.

“I have no idea what I did to end up in this family, really.”

Flume answered her through gritted teeth.

“You surely were an awful person in a previous life.”

“Surely. Like, boiling-babies-for-a-beauty-cream awful.”

The wizard refraigned from snorting in derision.

“Smile, Tonks, it could be worse.”

“How so?”

“You could have been born in the Crabbe Family.”

The witch shuddered at the thought, and glanced at her mother, her ghost of a psychopathic aunt, and her estranged cousin. Speaking of which, where had her other estranged cousin gone to? Wasn't he the one who had brought his younger brother in to begin with?

Her mother seemed to be thinking the same thing, because she asked right after the Healer finished to explain Regulus' state. And once she had taken a good look at her cousin's left forearm, too.

“Where is Sirius?”

Flume grimaced, but answered nonetheless.

“Lord Black started bleeding all over his face, I think he went to clean himself up.”

Andromeda raised an eyebrow, high, at the news.Sirius would never have gone away from the room where his possibly-up-for-jail brother was sleeping, even if he had almost been gutted, which wasn't the case. Just bleeding a bit should not have sent him away. Sirius' most defining trait was perhaps his stubbornness. And since he couldn't care less about a bit of blood...

The Minister for Magic intervened then, far from oblivious to the disbelief on the Black witch's face.

“It may be out of character, Mrs. Tonks, but Lord Black didn't seem quite like himself when we saw him. He seemed... worryingly unresponsive.”

Andromeda didn't get it right away, but it sure didn't take long for her to groan her frustration.

“He did it again, that idiot...”

“What did he do, exactly?”

“Oh, he only stopped everything: feelings, personal attachments... The limits of occlumency, really. No one would be insane enough to do that, and it's the second time already Sirius did it. Last time he did it, it was after the Whomping Willow incident. He freaked out about every single person in Hogwarts for two or three months, before his friends convinced him to go back to normal. He does that because, as always, he values efficiency over being true to himself.”

The witch stared at the sleeping figure of Regulus Black for a moment.

“Sirius certainly thought he didn't have the luxury to be emotionally unstable right now...”

As it is, said not-emotionally-unstable person walked into the room right at that moment, accompanied by the Aurors Hannah Fell and Harold Savage. As well as by a beautiful woman with scarlet bright red hair, and large blue eyes. For a moment Scrimgeour wondered what a Weasley was doing here, then he remembered that the Weasleys were more on the orange side of red hairedness. The muggle woman was wearing a blue poncho sweater that somehow made her fit with the wizarding community. It took him a moment to realize that the woman was most likely Amanda White.

Then the Minister for Magic noticed the way Savage was clenching his jaw, and that Fell had a disturbingly hand-shaped red mark around her throat. Both were sending uneasy looks at the muggle woman, and Scimgeour couldn't for the life of him guess what had possibly happened at the Whites' house.

Amanda's eyes immediately went to her husband, and before anyone could tell her otherwise, she was sitting next to the bed, holding Cadfael, no, Regulus' hands. The Healer, who was still administering a special ointment onto the reddish scars, tried to protest, but he soon let it go when they crossed gazes. His guts just told him he'd better leave her alone if he didn't want anything unfortunate to happen.

Like, she had that Mad-Eye-Moody look in her eyes right now, that said “back off before I decide to break half the bones in your body with a hairpin”, feminin version.

Even if they weren't on the receiving end of said look, Savage, Fell and Flume reacted just the same way as the Healer: by taking a step back.

Muggle or not, Bellatrix mused, she already liked the woman.

The Minister for Magic, instead, took one step towards the woman. Regulus Black's wife...

“If you please, Mrs. Black...”

That got a surprised look from the Tonks, who had been wondering who this stranger was. And it got absolutely nothing from Sirius, who was so deep in the muddy waters of his own mind that the surprise simply slid off him. Figures.

Amanda gave the Minister for Magic an amused smile.

“You can call me Mrs. White, if you'd rather. We've done with it all these years, since Cadfael... Wait, Regulus, isn't that his real name? Since Regulus didn't remember his family name. I don't mind either name.”

Truth be told, Regulus and Amanda had worked on calling him by his true name ever since he had regained his memories back, though not in front of Alshain.

Regulus had finally told her everything that she needed to know about his past, during the last month. Accepting that her husband had been part of a racist and terroristic group hadn't been easy to accept, but there had been hints, over the years, fragments of memories wihtout real meaning, that had nonetheless told the Whites that Cadfael's past hadn't been stark white. Amanda hadn't been that surprised, and really, she hadn't been surprised either, when Regulus had told her that his near death had happened because he had backed off.

Maybe she didn't know Regulus' past that well, put she knew Cadfael, and they were one and the same. She knew her husband. And she knew that his regrets were sincere. That he still had nightmares about the errors from the past.

Amanda was well-placed to know that the true monsters were the ones who never had nightmares.

She tightened her hold on her husband's hand.

Regulus had told her to be frank with the magical authorities. He had told her that he deserved everything that'd come his way. That she shouldn't lie, not even to help him.

But here they were, and Regulus was being treated, not thrown into jail yet. Amanda had been in the military, and she knew enough about extremists to say that even if they were wounded, they would never be left in a hospital without precautions taken. She didn't know much about magic, but still, it seemed like there were no precautions taken here.

And the two Aurors had said, just after the little misunderstanding that had ended up with her almost strangling the suspicious people asking about her husband this late in the night, the Aurors had said that Regulus wasn't accused of anything yet.

He had told Amanda to be honest, but she wouldn't let her husband pay for something he had more than already paid for. Alshain needed his father, too.

Amanda only took a moment to look at the faces of the other people in the room. Four were wearing an uniform, whom she knew to be aurors. One was the man who had just calleed her Mrs. Black, and whom she recognized from Regulus' newspapers to be the Minister for Magic. The others seemed to be related to Regulus.

One of them was the Auror witch with bubblegum pink hair. She was the one who looked the less like Regulus, but there was something that remained in her facial features... Amanda couldn't quite tell what it was, but she could see something of her husband in the young woman.

The second was an older woman, who looked both like Regulus and like the previous woman, probably her mother. Same jaw as Regulus, same nose, but with angles a bit less sharp.

Of course, Amanda couldn't see Bellatrix. Muggles couldn't see ghosts, except under very special circumstances. But if she had been able to, she'd have noticed, past the likeness between Bella and Andromeda, even more similarities between the ghost and her husband. The same square jaw, ink black hair, and something in the facial expression that reeked of accidental haughtiness.

And of course, there was the one person she could just peg as Regulus' brother, and not only because she had seen his picture in the newspapers too. In a way, Sirius Black seemed to be a higher definition image of her husband. Perhaps he was one inch or so shorter than his younger brother, and his stature in general seemed a bit more lean; but aside from that, the older Black brother had the exact same features as Regulus, only, sharper and smoother at the same time. Which was odd to think about, but eitherway. Just, more harmonious, not that it mattered much to Amanda.

What really got her, thought, was the dead look in the man's eyes. It didn't correspond to what Regulus had told her about his brother; it didn't even fit the photos she had seen.

Amanda looked back at her sleeping husband.

How would she react, herself, if Alexander reappeared without warning after years of being thought dead? She had no idea.

Perhaps it explained why Sirius Black seemed completely absent right now, even if his body and mind worked all right.

Amanda looked back at the Minister for Magic, and started talking.

She told them about how she had found a wounded and unconscious man on a beach during her holidays, years ago, how it had turned out that he had almost no memories, how he had chosen the name Cadfael, not because of how it sounded, but because the meaning reminded him of something. How she had kept visiting him during the next month. How she had decided to stop working to take care of him.

How the stranger had gradually made her fall in love, and how he had eventually told her that, even if he didn't remember much, he at least remembered one thing: how to do magic. How she hadn't believed him at first, until he had made a shadow show just for her in the light of the morning.

How they had gotten married, a bit unsure of what they were doing, Cadfael always wondering if he hadn't left another family behind. How they had never managed to get anything out of his head, and how they had eventually let go of the hope to find his past back, on day. How he had nightmares, sometimes, that made him scream in his sleep.

How Alshain had been a bit of a surprise, and how they had welcomed the unexpected chid nonetheless.

Amanda kept to herself the bit about the last months, about Regulus' memories coming back.

She hoped it wouldn't fire back right at her.

But she needed her husband to be free, if not for herself, at least for their son.

She saw the glint of doubt in Andromeda Tonks' eyes, but the older woman didn't say a word about it. She only glanced suspiciously at Regulus' brother, as if he had all the answers. But Sirius Black only stared back.

There was something here, Amanda could tell, that wasn't quite normal. But she didn't know the Blacks well enough to say what exactly.

Then a terribly annoying journalist opened the door and tried to ask a question, before being violently pushed back by Harold Savage. Andromeda almost rolled her eyes, gritted her teeth, and stood up. The next instant, she had a perfect smile on her face, directed at Sirius.

“I do trust you not to do anything stupid, Sirius, but not to act like a decent human being in the state you got yourself in. So I will be the one to handle the journalists this time. Nymphadora, make sure he doesn't do anything irreparable.”

And just like that, Andromeda Tonks walked out.

 


	30. Human like us all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being late, but this chapter is about feelings. I'm bad at feelings. I'm not saying I can't do feelings. Just that I have a hard time writing feelings. (Unless it's hate)

Albus Dumbledore had more or less been expecting the visit, when Remus Lupin met him on the grounds of Hogwarts. The headmaster may not have known where and when the werewolf would come to see him, but he had had few doubts that he would.

Remus could have waited for the next Order reunion, though. It was only two days from now.

Then again, if Albus was right in his assumptions, this was about Sirius Black and his latest stunt. Merlin forbid Remus from waiting when it was about Sirius Black. Or, more specifically, about what Sirius had done.

And, despite what the werewolf probably thought, there wasn't much the older wizard could do about the situation. Sirius had made a choice, and unless he undid his occlumency shields on his own, he'd stay walled up. Trying to break the fortress from outside was difficulf, dangerous, and not something Dumbledore wanted to do without Sirius' authorization.

Needless to say, if he had this authorization, there'd be no point in trying, since Sirius was totally able to do it on his own, with no risks to his mind.

Dumbledore walked down the path to join his former student, and found himself facing the Black Lake.

If he could not, and would not, force Sirius out of his occlumency shields, it didn't mean there was nothing to be done; or, that he couldn't give Remus advice on how to achieve that.

“What can I do for you, Remus?”

The werewolf glanced silently at the headmaster, before turning back to look at the still water.

“What Sirius did... He can't keep this up.”

“Then talk him out of it. You already did once, Remus, and this time you won't wait three months like during your fifth year. I do not see the problem here.”

The younger wizard's voice was frustrated when he answered, and, once again, Dumbledore recognized the man's lack of faith in himself. Remus Lupin usually managed to keep that sentiment of being unworthy and uncapable to himself. This time, apparently, wasn't such a time.

He really needed to trust himself a bit more.

“Last time, I wasn't alone!!! Last time Peter and James were there with me, to make him stop! Now Peter's a traitor, James is dead, and I am not the reason Sirius shut himself inside his own freaking mind! His brother Regulus is, and Regulus has just as much success as myself in getting Sirius back! That is, considering he actually is trying...”

The end sounded bitter, which the headmaster didn't miss.

Albus decided it was time to visit the Black residency. Three days had passed since September, the first. Three days since Regulus Black's return to the world, three days since Sirius Black's disappearance. Or, as close as it could get to a disappearance when the man in question was still physically present.

“We will go to see them, then. Both brothers are staying at Black Manor, are they not?”

Remus' anger, which Dumbledore couldn't really tell if it was directed at the werewolf himself or at Sirius' brother, slumped down with his shoulders. It was more, the headmaster realized, despair than anger. A feeling of helplessness...

Albus could relate. He had felt that way for some time, once he had found out, no, once he had stopped blinding himself to Grindelwald's flaws.

They started walking out of Hogwarts, only stopping for the headmaster to send a message to Professor McGonagall about their leaving. As they walked, Dumbledore thought he'd get Remus to speak a bit more. The man certainly needed to.

“Why are you so desperate to force Sirius back, Remus?”

“The answer seems obvious, doesn't it?”

“I am not asking you why you want your best friend back, or why it has to be done. What I want to know, is what is really troubling you. Is there a reason, for you to be this affected, when we both know this was only Sirius breaking down for once, instead of keeping it all bottled up? The way he decided to deal with it is not good, obviously, because he will still have to sort through his feelings when he ends his mental barriers. But you should not be this desperate, Remus. Not about Sirius' decision.”

It could have been worse. It could always be worse. Sirius hadn't murdered anyone, he hadn't ended his own life, he wasn't even drowning his worries in alcohol. For all purpose, Sirius Black was operational, if not emotionaly present. It was better than nothing.

And they both knew Sirius would come back at some point.

If only because there was bound to be a moment he'd need to truly be there.

Remus forced himself to take a deep breathe, calm down, be a good and patient person. He did know why Sirius' reaction to his brother's return bothered him so much. Really, it was obvious.

“The only other time he shut everything down, he was guilty, Albus.”

What did it say about the situation, now that Regulus Black was back, without a Dark Mark, and Sirius had reacted the same way he had previously done after doing something really illegal? Remus knew of no way to make the Dark Mark disappear, but he couldn't see another reason why Sirius would have reacted so severely.

Or, at least, even if he could understand why Sirius would be in utter shock after seeing his dead younger brother, well, alive, Remus couldn't help but suspect that there was more behind Sirius' reaction than the simple emotional shock.

There was always something else behind everything Sirius did.

And Remus feared for his friend. He feared that Sirius had taken a rushed decision about his brother, and that to cover his doubts, or perhaps, his guilt, he had closed the gates to his mind. It wouldn't be the first time Sirius let the lights out because of what he had done. Because what he had possibly done was something even he couldn't rationalize, even he couldn't excuse.

Not only Remus feared the factual outcome of Sirius' choice, but he also feared that, once Sirius would be back, he wouldn't be able to deal with it.

Albus stopped to look at the younger wizard for half a minute. Then he hummed, glanced at the sky, a thoughtful look on his face, and resumed his walking.

Thruthfully, he could have apparated them to Black Manor even inside Hogwarts, as the headmaster, but it was obvious that Remus needed to talk before confronting his elusive best friend.

Oddly enough, people didn't talk to Dumbledore even when he had said he was there for it, if they felt it necessary. He suspected it was because they usually felt ashamed, guilty, or otherwise not keen on communicating whatever was bothering them. Perhaps they feared he would laugh at their concern, or think them weak. Or they thought he had better things to do, and never a moment to assure their personal stability. It wasn't the image he was trying to give, but what could he do?

Eitherway, the headmaster had long learned that most of the time, the best way to get people to open up to him was not to say anything and just give them time.

Which didn't mean he wouldn't answer once someone asked.

“Did you consider that it is perhaps a good thing, all in all, if not the best, that Sirius reacted to whatever he did? If I know him well enough, Remus, and I think I know him a little at least, this situation is the product of his emotions and his need for control colliding. No matter how much he tries to deny it, Sirius is human like us all. He cannot ignore his feelings completely. And at the same time, he knows they are liable to blind him to the truth. He is not in permanent control of his own thoughts, but at least he is aware of it, unlike many people. And when backed in a corner, he tried to find a solution that didn't involve his own feelings.”

Remus snorted a bit at that, knowing very well how Sirius was. The man wanted to predict absolutely everything, and at the same time, to be unpredictable when it mattered. Always keeping everyone on edge.

Well, he was doing it alright, only, perhaps not in the best way.

“It may be good that he's trying, but I still don't agree with how he does it.”

The werewolf could have sworn he saw the Headmaster's upper lip twitch in amusement.

“Which is why it is important for you to talk to him, Remus.”

They reached the gates and left the grounds of Hogwarts.

The next moment they were standing in front of the gates of Black Manor, just outside the anti-apparition wards. They could theoretically enter the grounds without announcing themselves, as Sirius had keyed them into the wards, but it was bad manners to just barge in. Not that Sirius'd care in his current state.

However, Regulus Black might care, as he was spending some time with his shadow of a brother and his surprisingly muggle wife at Black Manor. With Sirius being out of emotional commission, and Regulus Black being suspiciously well-behaved, Remus was not going to try his luck and invite himself in.

At least not unless Regulus Black tried to keep him out.

A house-elf, whom Remus recognized as Sterhn, popped into existence just on the other side of the gates, and stared at them in silence for a moment, before bowing.

“If Mister Lupin and Headmaster Dumbledore would come in. The master is informed of your presence.”

No mention of the master's feelings about their visit, Remus noticed.

On the other hand, the werewolf knew that the word “feelings” right now was not to be associated with Sirius. So he guessed it was logical that he didn't think himself particularly concerned, or opposed, to their presence.

The gates opened, and the house-elf took a step back.

“Lord Black is in his study. Master Regulus and Mistress Amanda are spending time outside, near the pond. Mistress Bellatrix's ghost is checking the edges of the property, in case someone would, again, try to get access without being invited. Which, Sterhn can says, would be spectacularly stupid. The Black wards are amongst the most aggressive in the wizarding world. And Miss Rowle is there to visit, too. She is currently in the library, with Master Sirius' allowance.”

Dumbledore seemed amused by the news, Remus noted. The younger wizard was growing more and more suspicious of the relationship between Sirius and Eleanor Rowle. It seemed like she was spending an awful amount of time at Black Manor lately.

Of course, Sirius hadn't said a thing to Remus. But the guy, for all he could be sharp and brilliant, was more than lacking when it came to his own relationships. Remus suspected he had been betrayed too many times to even think someone who had no actual link to him could in fact care for him.

Sterhn went back to the Manor with a pop, and Remus smiled wrily.

“So Eleanor Rowle is there too...”

Dumbledore hummed, an innocent look on his face to prove he had absolutely no idea what this could be about.

“Sirius and her seems to have come to a deep friendship. It is to be expected that she would be worried by his sudden withdrawal after the return of his brother.”

“Deep friendship, sure.”

Remus might have drawled that last comment a bit.

He blamed his own friendship with Sirius for that. He usually was someone very considerate of other people's feelings. But apparently talking relationships about Sirius was a bit too much, even for his considerate ways.

Dumbledore, still all innocent-sounding, gullible-faced, made Remus regret his drawl.

“And how is your friendship with Nymphadora going, Remus?”

The werewolf gulped, and swore he would not, ever, in the rest of his life, sneer at Sirius' difficulties with relationships, especially not before the guy himself. He did not want to be reminded of his own issues.

So he went for the less dangerous answer.

“We've both been busy with the Order lately. I'm afraid Tonks didn't get to see me as much as she'd like. She has to deal with her Auror duties on top of it all.”

“Perhaps I should see if there is a mission you two could handle together, then?”

Damn the old man!

“Please don't. Our areas of expertise are not compatible.”

Or so Remus would like to think. It would be easier if it was really the case.

Then again, perhaps he wasn't so much talking about “areas of expertise” as of something else.

The conversation, to Remus' great relief, was cut short as they saw the latest Black couple sitting by the pond before the manor.

Remus hadn't yet met with Amanda White, sorry, Amanda Black, and, seriously, had they done it one purpose? He had seen a quick shot of her leaving St. Mungo's with her husband on the _Daily Prophet_ , her right arm raised to keep the journalists away, revealing a bit too many scars for it not to be worrying. Some had said things about these being due to Regulus and an unhealthy relationship, which wasn't that surprising considering that he was from a notably racist family.

But Remus could see the way Sirius' brother was leaning over his wife, as if shielding her from malicious intent. He was showing her a few books, probably explaining a bit more about his world than he had already done before, now that he had actual, historic examples.

Amanda White seemed to take it all very well. The manor, the immense property, the hidden past and the world secretly at war. She certainly didn't seem disturbed by the big change in her life.

She looked up, at the visitors, and her face brightened with a smile which was painfully familiar to Remus.

Her scarlet hair shone in the candid morning light with a brightness he hadn't seen in a long time. She reminded him of Lily, just a bit. But Lily at the end of the war, just before her death. Happy with her son and her husband, but damaged nonetheless by what she had seen.

Remus wondered what Amanda White could have seen that would forever alter her bright blue eyes into pools of relieved joy.

Then again, she had these scars on her arms.

She hadn't gotten these cooking a meal, of that Remus was certain.

Her voice was soft when she spoke, the kind that oddly covered any scream and was always heard.

“Cadfael, your brother's visitors are here.”

Regulus started a bit, and when he looked up at Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin, his cheeks were pinkish. Amanda had taken to calling him Regulus, but she still called him Cadfael from time to time, instead of “Honey” or another nickname. It was less obvious, and he doubted the two other wizards could guess what the name really meant to him now, but still... Amanda had basically called him Honey before two people he didn't think liked him much.

Gazes met during the following seconds. Amanda sighed a bit at the obvious awkwardness, that she could read well enough to tell it had also a lot to do with past issues and distrust. She closed the book, and put a hand on Regulus' arm.

“I'll be with Eleanor while you try to get your brother back into the world of humanity. She's not saying anything, but I think she's having a hard time accepting this new Sirius Black.”

Regulus frowned, forgetting the visitors for a moment.

“Really? But why would she...”

The look his wife gave him, arched eyebrows and a long-suffering expression on, told him he was being either stupid or blind. Considering the object of the discussion, Regulus surmised he was being daft, which implied he was being both stupid and blind.

He looked up at the floor where the manor's library was, and up again at his brother's study.

“Really?”

“Why do you think she's been coming here for the last three days, you fool?”

“For the books?”

Even he thought he didn't sound convinced at all by his own words. If only because the Rowles had their own private library, and Eleanor Rowle didn't seem like the kind of witch who would be interested in the rarest books the Black library had which her own might not. That is, books on dark magic. And if Eleanor Rowle wasn't here for the library, as she had told him...

She most certainly was here for Sirius.

Sirius, who, for all he was present, wasn't really here.

Amanda may have smuggled a sneer in her slightly condescending smile.

“Sure, for the books. Anyway, I'll be up there. Speaking about 'books' with Eleanor. Don't you dare come and interrupt our bookish conversation. There are some things men aren't allowed to hear about their brother.”

Regulus watched his wife making her way to the manor with a slightly astonished look.

Then he remembered the visitors, and his neck creaked as he turned it a bit too fast in a sudden movement to look back at the two.

Remus Lupin seemed just as dumbfounded by the fairer sex as he was. And Albus Dumbledore had a knowing glint in his eyes that made Regulus wonder about his former headmaster's love life, something he immediately regretted.

The oldest wizard eventually coughed a bit to break the silence.

“How is your brother, Regulus?”

“Healthy.”

Which, physically, was as true as it could be. Regulus was well aware, though, that it wasn't the point of the old man's question.

Still, he thought it was important to point out that Sirius wasn't bleeding from his eyes, ears or mouth anymore. If he had, Regulus would have been forced to drag his stubborn, and currently uncaring, big brother back to St. Mungo's, which, he was sure, would have been so much fun...

He shuddered at the simple thought.

Lupin glared at him, and Regulus self-consciously grabbed his now-unmarked arm. Which didn't go unnoticed by the visitors. Not that he had expected many people to believe Sirius' story. And, as Sirius had said, what really mattered was that there wasn't any proof of anything anymore.

“You know what he meant, Black.”

“I'm not the one who decided it was better to get myself shut in mentally, Lupin! Sirius did this all on this own. So yes, obviously, he's still as emotionally dead as yesterday and the days before that. But I have no idea what to do to stop it.”

Lupin took a step forward, and Regulus had to stop himself from either recoiling or, on the other side of the reaction spectrum, taking a step forward too. He didn't want to show his discomfort or his guilt, and he certainly could do better than antagonizing, again, Sirius' friend.

He was trying to be on his best behavior, to prove he had changed.

Not that he was boneheaded like Sirius or possibly still thinking he was better than anyone else.

He had learned better years ago, at the expense of his health and memory.

“You're the reason he did this!”

“And you were the reason the first time around, so I think you're not in any position to criticize. Now you could go up there, try to talk him out of this, get him back, like I did, and hope that if there is more than one or two people who tell him we actually do want him back, Sirius will put an end to this. Or you could stay here and accuse me of a lot of things while he doesn't change his decision. What do you prefer?”

The werewolf took a step back, and let his mood calm down. He had always been a quiet one, Regulus knew, but it was really the first time he realized how mellow the man was. Before, he had been too blinded by his friendship with his traitorous older brother to consider the man properly.

Lupin shook his head, as if to chase away the most unpleasant thoughts, and headed to the manor.

He only turned back once he was standing before the main doors.

“Black. I'm willing to consider your change of heart, but if I find that you are only playing with Sirius' mind... Actually, you'd better hope I'll be the one to find out first, and not your brother. He's been broken so many times, I'm not sure he'd take your betrayal very well. The first time around, at least, you were frank on your position.”

Regulus didn't think there was anything he could answer, so he simply watched the werewolf go in without a word.

Which might explain why the sigh startled him so much.

Regulus jumped around, and realized he had completely forgotten about Albus Dumbledore standing there, just behind him. As if the man wasn't the most powerful and knowledgeable wizard in the United Kingdom. This was definitely not the kind of people Regulus was supposed to forget about when they were standing behind him. His mother'd be ashamed.

Not that it took a lot to ashame Walburga Black.

The old wizard gave him an amused look, before glancing back at the door Remus Lupin had just passed. Regulus noticed how weary and tired the man looked, beneath the calm tranquility.

He guessed that Albus Dimbledore was getting old, after all. He was something like one hundred and ten years old, give or take. It couldn't exactly be easy for him to stay the front of the war against Voldemort.

The Dark Lord knew that, too.

Regulus shivered, only relieved by the fact that if Voldemort was conscious of his enemy's old age, he was also too sure of himself, and of his relatively young age. The Dark Lord's biggest flaw was certainly to underestimate everyone. He had underestimated Regulus, once upon a time.

He didn't want to think about Voldemort's reaction when he'd learn about his continued existence, if he didn't already know. Regulus didn't want to think about the danger to Amanda and Alshain.

He had more pressing matters to attend to, anyway. Albus Dumbledore had not followed Lupin inside, and Regulus had a feeling there was a reason for that.

It would only make sense for the leader of the Order of the Phoenix to want to talk to him, the Death Eater who had just come back from the dead, and who, Regulus was certain, wasn't that convincing as a falsely accused man to those who knew enough.

Unlike Sirius, he didn't have a long past of fighting for the better cause to make it more believable.

The older wizard looked Regulus in the eyes, and immediately all the warmth in his gaze disappeared to the benefit of something colder, and certainly not about to be fooled.

The question that followed, though, was not what he had expected.

“Do you love your wife, Regulus?”

The younger wizard almost choked in surprise, and took a step away from the old man. What was that question, seriously? He had been expecting something about loyalties, earning his redemption, or even about not hurting Sirius after everything he had lived through.

But a question about Amanda?

“Of course I do!”

His outraged tone did not seem to faze the old wizard.

“And how would you describe this love, young man? Is Amanda White the most perfect woman in the world, is she the one you've always been waiting for, is she that love you know you should not indulge in but you cannot do otherwise?”

Still not seeing where this was going, Regulus eyed the headmaster of Hogwarts warily.

“None of these. She's just the one I love, and it isn't for the best or the worst. I'm complety aware she isn't perfect, but she's the one I need now, and I'm the one she needs too. She doesn't excuse everything I do, and I never forget that she saw more of me than most, even when I didn't have my memories, and that, nevertheless, she still stayed with me.”

Regulus suddenly realized his choice of words hadn't been the most judicious, especially when addressed to Albus Dumbledore, who wouldn't have much difficulty guessing that indeed, he now remembered everything. Sure, it also said he really had forgotten his whole life for the last fifteen years or so, but it wasn't the problem here.

His heart sped up, expecting things to go badly after that.

But, to his surprise, and Merlin, wasn't this day full of surprises? - the old wizard smiled. The hard glint in his eyes had disappeared. Apparently he had heard what he wanted. Regulus still wasn't sure whether it was good or bad for him.

Dumbledore looked back up at the sky.

“As long as you realize that your muggle wife is a human being just like yourself, Regulus, I don't see a reason to suspect you of anything nefarious. There are people who love others, but feel like they shouldn't, because the other one is not what they consider right for them. I think you remember quite well Evan Rosier's secret, don't you?”

Regulus blanched visibly.

So that was the point of the old man's questioning? Knowing whether or not he had really changed?

He cleared his throat, his eyes set on a tree, not to look in the headmaster's direction.

“Evan loved Diana, but he still thought he shouldn't. She wasn't enough to make him change is views. He never left Voldemort's ranks, not even for his muggle-born wife, not for his half-blood daughter.”

Dumbledore nodded, thinking back to Evan Rosier's death, and realizing that Regulus certainly couldn't know about the exact circumstances. He hesitated only a moment.

“When Alastor Moody went to arrest your friend, Evan Rosier fought to his death. We first assumed he wanted to take Alastor with him into death, or that he didn't want to be taken to Azkaban. But not long after, the news of Diana Exeter's, no, Diana Rosier's pregnancy spread. I believe your friend only wanted to go back to his wife, no matter what. He loved her.”

Regulus strangled a feeble laugh, trying not to let the tears out. He really ought to go and see Diana.

“Not enough, it seems.”

Albus watched the young wizard for a moment, then headed to the manor. If Remus hadn't yet managed to convince Sirius in letting himself back, he'd give a try at talking. Still, he turned around one last time, and added something more to the dying conversation.

“I was in love, once. But it was the kind of person you should not love, and I noticed that too late. A bit like your cousin Bellatrix. The difference being, I realized what was truly happening before they got me killed. You should be happy that you love the right kind.”

The old wizard walked up the stairs in silence. He stopped for a minute when he saw the forms of the two women currenly in Black Manor; they were talking quietly in the library, and the door had been left ajar. He shook his head, and thought the Black brothers really were choosing right, even if one of them hadn't yet understood what was going on. Amanda White and Eleanor Rowle were truly what they both needed.

Dumbledore climbed the last flight of stairs, and waited by the door next to Sirius' private apartment; Lord Black's study. He could hear rushed words coming from the room, but nothing definite. The only thing he was certain of, from Remus' tone, was that the werewolf was growing exasperated. In other words, it wasn't going well.

A couple of minutes passed, and suddenly Remus was storming out of the room.

He stopped for an instant, as he noticed Dumbledore waiting, and schooled his features.

“He's all yours. But I doubt you will get much out of him, not without forcing your way in. This... it's not Sirius. It's just his body, working on autopilot. There's no reasoning with that thing.”

Albus wondered if the younger wizard wasn't correlating his friend's condition a bit too much with his own lycanthropy. True, both states worked by preventing any personal connection to the situation they were in. But unlike Remus' wolf-self, the fortress Sirius had isolated himself in wasn't designed to keep the mind at bay; lycanthropy caused an absolute lack of control, whereas this mind lock was making control the only parameter to one's behavior.

The older wizard wasn't going to ask, though. Not while Remus was this invested in the issue. Perhaps later, when the werewolf would be able to see the events, and his own reaction, in a clearer light.

If, and only if, Remus didn't figure it out beforehand.

Dumbledore waited for Remus to have disappeared down the stairs. Then he knocked at the door to Sirius' study, even though it had been left wide open.

“Come on in.”

The Black Lord was sitting straighter than Sirius Black had ever sat, except these particular months, during his fifth year at Hogwarts. Behind a desk covered in old parchments and even some papyrus, the young man was seemingly researching something, undisturbed by his best friend's hasty and angsty exit. Albus had to admit it was rather unsettling and out-of-character for Sirius Black.

Then again, the whole problem was that, currently, Sirius didn't have the slightest bit of a character.

He had literally locked his personality down.

Lord Black put down his quill and glanced one last time at the papers scattered on his desk, before looking up to Dumbledore, who had taken the seat on the other side of the desk.

“It would appear that your theory about Harry's possible survival are indeed founded, if I am to believe my research. Of course, it is still a big 'if' depending on a lot of circumstances, and the fiability of my sources. But the fact that we have both come to the same conclusion does paint the situation a bit lighter. Though, just like you, I have not found the beginning of another solution.”

Black stared at Albus for a time. No words were exchanged during that time.

“But it is not the reason you are here, is it, Headmaster?”

This, again, was no question, even if Black had made it sound like one.

“Remus and I came together, I fear.”

“Obviously.”

Albus took a moment to examine the young man, from his pale skin, the dark shadows under his eyes, to the lack of expression on his face, the rigid posture which was the exact contrary of who Sirius Black was. It was a bit terrifying how, just by erasing the personal aspect of someone, it made them look completely inhuman. Even Black's handsomeness, though still present, had simply faded behind his unmoving features.

Everything disappeared behind the first, cold, slightly-not-human feeling he gave off.

“You should really stop it, you know.”

“Regulus, Eleanor and Remus already told me that.”

“They are right.”

“I did not say otherwise.”

Interesting. Perhaps Black hadn't been that deaf to his friends' and family's demands. After all, it was only logical that, at some point, he'd have to reverse the occlumency shields. And right now, Lord Black was nothing but logical.

The young man gestured at his research.

“Only, I do not think it is the right time for that. Since I am already in this state, and as, the moment I let it go, I will be submerged by the feelings I have been repressing, it is only natural for me to want to make the most out of it.”

Or not.

Of course, Black was right, but it didn't mean it was what he should be doing.

“The more you postpone your return, Sirius, the more you risk it to happen at the very worst moment. Imagine you bring yourself back only for something grave to happen in the next days, when you are not yet emotionally recovered; what then?”

“This argument is invalid. This hypothetical grave event could very well occur tomorrow, and then having stopped my occlumency control earlier would do exactly the same thing.”

“Think about your brother and your friends. It is them you are hurting now, by refusing to come back. Besides, I have enough faith in you to believe that, if there is something to discover that could help Harry, you would find it no matter how impaired you find yourself to be at the moment.”

Black made a face, that was oddly terrifying because of the lack of emotions behind it.

“Like I found a way to avenge James and Lily after Peter's betrayal? Had I kept my feelings under wraps at the time, I wouldn't have spent twelve years in Azkaban and two years on the run, only to get killed last May and resurrecting myself using my assassin's life force. And Harry might not have spent most of his life with the Dursleys.”

There was a short pause, but Dumbledore felt the young man had more to answer.

“Moreover, I am keeping myself chained down so that they don't get hurt. Regulus might not appreciate what I would have to say to him otherwise. And in an emotional turmoil, I could accidently cause something worse than what already is. I will not allow that to happen. Not before I manage to make most things go straight again.”

Albus sighed, and stood from his seat.

“If that is what you think, Sirius, I am afraid there is nothing I can do. But think about it; they need Sirius Black amongst them, but you are barely him. I understand that you primarily did what you did in order to help your brother while still being objective as to his intents. But if you do not come back, you could deter him from doing the right thing, instead of just hiding from what he is guilty of. Show him that you can accept him, even with the mistakes he made in the past.”

Lord Black only stared at the older wizard as he left the study, his face impassive.

Albus Dumbledore may have stopped trying to convince Sirius Black to allow himself back, but he hadn't yet finished his move.

So he stopped by the library before leaving Black Manor.

Eleanor Rowle was sitting there, alone again, reading a book. She looked fine, not particularly distressed, but the slight frown on her features said enough.

“Miss Rowle?”

She jumped a bit, then looked up from her book a bit too quickly.

“Headmaster?”

“You can call me Albus, you know? I am not your headmaster anymore.”

She smiled a bit, but there was a certain tightness to the expression, which Dumbledore believed to be due to the upper floor. Or, rather, to the occupant of the upper floor, and his refusal to undo his mental shields.

“Force of habit, Sir. Can I do something for you?”

Albus hesitated to ask the young woman for about half a second, but eventually he dismissed the qualm. He was almost certain she'd be the last push Black needed to free himself. And he didn't doubt Eleanor Rowle had to try one last time, instead of staying one flight of stairs from the man she was waiting for, hoping he'd ultimately do the right thing. Waiting too long rarely did any good.

“Perhaps you could go and pay one last visit to Sirius.”

She gave the old wizard a wry smile.

“I already tried that, Sir. But he's just not present, so, consequently, not listening.”

“Oh, he is listening, Eleanor. He just doesn't want to hear what we have to say to him. You, though, I believe you could find something to say he'd want to hear.”

And on these cryptic words, Albus Dumledore left the Black library, and only a few minutes later, the grounds of the Blacks' main estate.

Eleanor stayed at her table for some time, before she finally decided it was time to do something, indeed, if she didn't want Sirius Black to be only an inhuman copy of himself for the rest of the war.

She pushed the door to his study lightly.

He didn't even hear her coming. Only she was here when he looked up from his stack of papers.

“Eleanor.”

“Sirius.”

“Is there something I can do for you?”

Eleanor had to restrain herself from demanding that he'd stop the idiocy he was currently doing. This was one thing she knew he wouldn't comply to do even if she asked him nicely.

There was, however, another way to get there. She was a bit irritated that she hadn't ever thought about it before, when it was kind of obvious, given Sirius' life story. Then again, it was more or less the contrary of what someone usually wanted to hear, so perhaps it wasn't that strange she hadn't thought about it.

Sirius never was an usual person.

Eleanor went to sit on the Black Lord's desk, her face just a bit above his own. He didn't say a word, but his eyebrows arched in interrogation.

She cupped his face with her hands, and stared straight at his opaque eyes.

“I don't need you, Sirius. I can very well live without you, and you don't have to come back. But I like it better when you are here. I won't ignore you if you come back, I won't expect anything from you that isn't you, and I definitely will not put any responsibility on your shoulders. You don't owe me. If anything, it is the world that owes you, for everything it did to you, and everything you did for it. And me, I don't want anything from you. I simply hope you will come back, and spend some time with me. Because I like it better when we are together.”

Silence followed her words.

Then Eleanor saw a wall of glass shatter in Sirius' eyes. As if life had come back to his silver gaze.

One hand, with fingers slightly longer, but just as thin as hers, moved up from the desk, and went to rest against her own cupped hands.

All Sirius had wanted was someone to ask him to come back, not because they needed him, but because they'd like it better. It was as simple as that.

Eleanor smiled.

Sirius did too.

Then she leaned down, and their lips met.

 


	31. Some nasty heirloom of dark magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? I won't even try to justify my absence. I had reasons, but none of them good enough to warrant three months without a chapter ( though it didn't help when my half-finished chater disappeared, along the whole document, into 75 pages of ################ )

Regulus glanced at his wife with happiness.

Amanda had come down from the Black Manor library with a book, not long after Eleanor had gone to see Sirius, walking Remus Lupin and Albus Dumbledore down the stairs at the same time. Apparently the old wizard liked her; they were talking with a tranquil smile on their lips. Lupin, on the other hand, was throwing nervous glances behind him – towards Sirius, in the manor, no doubt. He was worried for his best friend, and Regulus could understand that.

The wizard bit his lips slightly, at the sight that had come before his eyes.

A muggle, Albus Dumbledore and a werewolf were walking the premises of Black Manor. An unlikely sight, for sure, for at least the last two centuries. Mother's portrait was probably grumbling low under her breath in some recluse frame.

Amanda went to sit next to her husband, after having said goodbye to the visitors. She asked him a few things about what was written in the book she was reading. She wanted to know magic better, even if she wouldn't be able to do anything with the knowledge. The basic rules, Regulus guessed. Amanda was clever; it was more than likely that with some help at the beginning, she'd be able to understand everything in most of the books – read, those which hadn't been written by lunatics – of the library.

Regulus wasn't sure if she was doing it for Alshain, for him, or for both of them. And he didn't care.

She was there, with him, even after everything that had happened. Even after what he had told her about his past. She was willing to be part of this world; that was enough for him.

“What are you thinking about, Cadfael?”

He guessed he must have had a worried look on his face. Frankly, he had every reasons to. His son was a half-blood in Slytherin – not that terrible, except Alshain was also a Black. His former “boss” was probably weighing the punishment he'd have to suffer. A lot of people were against the very idea of a muggle Black Lady. He still didn't know if he'd be able to pretend he had lost all his memories – or if it was even a good idea.

“We'll have to find a place to stay... Our old house would be too much trouble to defend, and we don't have the time to put up long-lasting, strong wards. And I don't think staying there would be appropriate, with a third of the portraits hissing at you non-stop.”

Amanda's upper lip twisted into amusement.

“I can handle your mother, Regulus.”

Of course she could. After the first “meeting” with the portrait, which had been very resentful on his mother's part – “Really, Regulus, a muggle? I always figured your brother would be the one to... But you!” – Amanda had peacefully told him she didn't care for a woman, portrait or not, who wouldn't even consider who she was over what she was. And now she politely ignored the spiteful old woman whenever Walburga's portrait said something untoward. It had gotten to the point where all the portraits who weren't idiotic bigots were actually impressed with her self-control...

Regulus still wasn't sure if that was self-control, or if Amanda really had dismissed his mother's opinion as she'd do the barking of a dog.

“Of course you can. But I'm not sure I can.”

It was really ironic, he had to admit, how he was the one married to a muggle woman, while Sirius, whom he had always thought would chose at least a half-blood, was showing interest for a pure-blood. Not that there was much choice in the attraction between the Rowle daughter and his brother; it was too natural for that. And, Regulus surmised, perhaps it made sense; Sirius didn't want the blood status to matter... and refusing to love a pure-blood because of her status was doing the exact contrary. To Sirius, it really didn't matter.

“And I'm not sure I can bear living with Sirius much longer. I mean, I love him, really, but sometimes he's just...”

Regulus wasn't sure what his brother was, “sometimes”. Freaky could do it, but so could many other adjectives. Gloomy could do it too, whenever he started moping about the first war and his time in Azkaban. Self-sacrifial, too, and not even pretending the contrary. And, whatever Sirius' weird habits, there was at least one thing that was certain: brotherhood was a wonderful thing... when kept at a reasonable distance.

Amanda turned to look at the opening front door of the manor, a smirk on her lips.

“Well, he's your brother. That says enough, I think.”

Regulus watched as his brother walked Eleanor Rowle back to the gates with an amused smile. Sirius had always been a bit slow on this point – disbelieving, in fact, to the point that he wasn't even considering it as a possibility – but it seemed that, this time, he had found someone he liked well enough – and who liked him back. Even if the both of them were apparently that kind of people...

Oh well. They had time.

And even if they didn't, rushing either one of them would probably just end badly.

But... There were other things to deal with for now. Things of importance. Things he'd rather not think about, but that he still needed to say. It was one of the reasons he had revealed himself to everyone, when he could have continued living as Cadfael White. Because this needed to be told. Sirius – the Order of the Phoenix – they needed to know.

Regulus had decided to wait, after Sirius had shut everything down, because he wasn't comfortable speaking to the soulless ersatz about it. He trusted Sirius, but that... That hadn't quite been Sirius. And while he didn't doubt that even on autopilot, Sirius wouldn't do anything “evil”, he had no guarantee that his brother wouldn't do anything... inconsiderate.

Not that Sirius was always considerate in his actions, not with how self-sacrificial he was, with how he was convinced he wasn't really worth it. Regulus couldn't pretend he understood, even if he knew the reason. It wasn't only because Sirius knew he wasn't completely sane, or because he was wary of his own lack of reaction to some things, no; there was also the matter of Adhara. The sister they never had. And Sirius was convinced he was to blame for that.

The worst being, Regulus couldn't exactly say it wasn't true, even if Sirius had never been asked for his opinion on the matter.

No, Sirius was often inconsiderate, of himself at least.

But there, with his emotions completely disconnected, Regulus had a feeling it would have been even worse than usual.

The younger Black brother wasn't sure what he'd have done if Eleanor Rowle hadn't been able to draw Sirius back to consciousness, but since it was the case... It needed to be said, and Regulus felt telling Sirius was the better way to get it to the Order of the Phoenix – Dumbledore would probably listen to him, too, but he wasn't certain he'd be able to utter even one word, because of the shame from his past that he'd feel, standing before the old wizard.

When Sirius came back, alone and looking at nothing in particular – the hint of a cheesy smile appearing timidly at the corner of his mouth, too, but perhaps now wasn't the time to point it out – Regulus gathered himself.

“Sirius, wait. I... I have something I need to tell you. About Voldemort.”

The older Black stopped walking, deceivingly neutral, to look at his brother.

“The kind of thing that could be useful in defeating him?”

“...Yeah. The kind of things you and your friends need to know if you want him gone. It's one of the reasons I came back, but, since I'm not supposed to remember... And even if it wasn't the case, your friends would probably not want to believe me. Most of them, right now, are probably thinking I'm playing amnesic, which is the case, and playing you, since they don't know it was your idea to begin with. If they knew I remember everything, they'd surely say I'm only pretending, that I'm feeding you false intel. I don't want you to lose the trust you've regained after...”

Sirius guessed what was following easily enough, and he didn't particularly want to go into specifics. Most of the time, he was happy pretending he hadn't spent twelve years in hell with absolutely no one believing in him – except perhaps Eleanor Rowle, which was funny, considering they hadn't know each other that much.

“Whereas they'll believe me if I come to them with info. I get it, Regulus; come inside, we'll talk about this in the office...”

Sirius meant the one on the ground floor, not the one on the last floor. Everyone could use the one on the ground floor, but it was still more private than right outside the Manor – not that people could just come in with the wards, but you never knew, right?

His eyes fell upon Amanda, and he stopped for a moment, hesitant.

“Do you want to...?”

The woman gave him a tranquil smile, closed her book, and stood up. Sirius knew she had been a soldier, up until she had found Cadfael White, and while wizarding wars were obviously not the same as muggle wars, they still went similarly enough. There were dead, wounded, and betrayed people. The menace of casualties.

Amanda could probably stomach everything that'd come her way, magical or not, and now that she had married the youngest Black brother, she needed to know what was coming her way.

And Regulus needed someone he could lean on. Sirius had his own amount of shit to deal with, he couldn't always be there for his brother, but Amanda... Amanda was still here.

Regulus looked between his brother and his wife, unsure of what to say.

“Is that really a good idea?”

He squeezed Amanda's hand as he said that. It wasn't that he thought he had to protect her against the evil of Voldemort – she could do that herself well enough, thank you – at all cost, that he needed to shield her – the scars on her arms were adamant she didn't need to be shielded either. Wizards often misjudged the strenght of muggles, he had learned that during his years as Cadfael. Muggle soldiers and other fighters usually couldn't stand up to a trained wizard, that was true, but that was also because they didn't know what to expect. Amanda knew enough.

Wizards often sucked in close combat, Regulus had found, and Amanda was very good at hand-to-hand fighting. If she could get close enough to her attacker, she wouldn't think twice before breaking their wand into two, and then, she'd have the upper hand against most opponents – unless they were animagi, like Sirius, but that was rare, or if they had a very good mastery of wandless magic, which was about as rare.

In fact, wizards were also bad at long range fighting; they usually didn't have enough power to fire a spell very far away, and the accuracy of a wand wasn't that good past forty feet, give or take, depending on the wizard's own skills. Amanda had been a sniper, and wherever they went to live once they'd leave Black Manor, Regulus could be sure she'd have a firing point, ready to shoot down anyone who thought they could attack her family. And since most magic shields were thought to block magic, and not physical attacks...

Regulus simply wasn't sure telling Amanda was necessary, which he was certain she could understand. The less you knew, the less you were targeted, and if things really went south, the less likely you were to spill.

Sirius nodded as he sat down.

“I am. Regulus, I'm by no means someone who wants everyone to know absolutely everything; it just doesn't work in real life, and it's completely suicidal in a war. But I've learned there should always be at least one person not directly involved who knows the secret, because if everyone gets killed except you, they will be the only one to testify that you aren't a traitor. That, and Amanda is your wife: she may not need to know everything, but she at least needs to know that there is something to hide, that you aren't just being secretive without reasons. Am I not right?”

The muggle woman didn't hide her smile, as she leaned back into her armchair.

“Honesty is overrated, if you want my opinion. Or rather, what people think honesty is, is not only wrong, but overrated. Being honest doesn't mean you share your every thoughts with everyone, it means you don't lie about it. Secrets exist for a reason, and sometimes, you're not told something simply because it's not your business. Moreover, not telling someone everything doesn't necessarily mean you don't trust them. You can simply want them safe, and depending on the situation, secrecy can be the key to it.”

Not always, certainly, but sometimes there was no other choice.

Amanda looked her husband in the eyes.

“I am not going to run away, Cadfael, and if you think I can handle what you're going to say, then say it. Your brother doesn't seem to think there is danger in me knowing, and for now, I trust him. It's your choice, in the end, but you need someone who can listen to you, to your fears, your memories; even the ones you aren't proud of. And I, Regulus... I have already seen more than my fair share of atrocities.”

“I guess that's a yes, then...”

Regulus almost laughed awkwardly, but what he was about to say... Even an uneasy laughter seemed inapropriate.

“First... I need to... Well. When I was doing Voldemort's bidding, at first, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought... I thought it was normal. And I believed that, if I couldn't do what the others did, if I couldn't muster the heart to obey certain orders, it was because I was weak, not because it was wrong. The Dark Lord, the other Death Eaters... They thought as much. They never guessed that my heart wasn't in it, and frankly, neither did I. They trusted me, in a way; I just wasn't good at being a soldier; but I was good at other things.”

The younger Black took a long breath. It wasn't easy, talking about that time in front of Sirius, who, despite the very same childhood, hadn't ever been fooled by all the supremacist talk in the family; before Amanda, who just hadn't lived in that world, and yet had fought against other people with extreme beliefs.

“When the doubts started to get at me... I was just as certain that I was the one being weak, that it would go away soon enough, and that, in no time, I'd just be ashamed of having doubted. I continued doing exactly the same things, pretending I wasn't having any doubts at all. I didn't even... I didn't even try to act on them. I stood by as the others did all these things... Even if I knew it couldn't possibly be right.”

He had been so convinced he was the one to be lacking, when in fact he was the only one who did have a conscience... But how could he have believed that?

Amanda never let go of Regulus' hand as he talked. How many times had she heard such a story? That even when someone indoctrinated doubted, they put it on their own weakness? That there often wasn't a way out... except death.

Which was more or less what had happened to Regulus Black, so many years ago.

“Then one day, the Dark Lord needed a house-elf to perform some task. He didn't precise what, and no one asked, but I thought that was a way to comfirm my faith in the cause, that providing Kreacher for the task was the participation I couldn't bring myself to give on some of the missions. I wasn't a soldier, but I could still be useful, right? The Dark Lord was pleased, and my doubts didn't have anything to question on that particular participation, at least. But, days after Kreacher had left, he still wasn't back. So I called him, and he came.”

Regulus glanced nervously at his brother.

“I know you don't like him, Sirius, but I do. And the state he was in... Agonizing. I panicked, and hid him from Mother and Father. I nursed him back to health, and for the first time, I... I disobeyed. I forced Kreacher to tell me what had happened, over Voldemort's own orders to stay quiet.”

Kreacher was a house-elf of the Black family, not Voldemort's. So obviously, even if Regulus considered, at the time, that the wizard was above him, to Kreacher, it didn't matter. His master's orders were absolute. The young master had asked him to obey the Dark Lord as if he were part of the family, and Kreacher had. But when the young master had asked the house-elf to tell him absolutely everything...

Kreacher had obeyed.

And he had told him everything – or, at least, everything he knew.

“Voldemort... the Dark Lord had taken Kreacher to a cave, and had used him to test the defenses there. Especially, he had hidden an object under a potion of pain, the recipient being charmed so that the only way to get what was in the potion, was to drink it completely.”

Sirius' mouth was twisting a bit too often for it not to be concerning, Regulus decided. Had it not been Voldemort and Kreacher they were talking about, one being dangerously powerful and difficult to find, the other being one of the older Black's least favorite people, Sirius might have just gone and kicked the bastard's door open before trailing them in a puddle of mud, then “misplacing” them in Azkaban.

But Sirius wasn't a fool, and he could control his impulses – kind of. Most of the time. Alright, probably not when it concerned someone he really cared about. Especially not when he was already in an unstable psychological state.

Which was not the case today, luckily.

Because, Sirius, not being a fool, had also figured out what came later on in the story.

“Let me guess, Regulus...”

He drawled his brother's name in a way that reminded of Lucius Malfoy – and wasn't that a disturbing thought?

“You went to get the object yourself, you drank the freaking potion, and there were, among the security measures, a bunch of underwater inferi?”

Regulus gave his brother a side-eyed look, wary of what was to come; not sure yet why he should be wary, but certainly feeling like it. Obviously, Sirius was pissed off because of his untimely “death” and all that, and he could understand... but it seemed like his older brother was also, unexpectedly, angry at him.

It wasn't as if he had lost his memory on purpose, though...

“Possibly?”

Which didn't settle Sirius' growing frustration at all – not that Regulus had expected it to, but still, it'd have been a nice turnaround.

“And you didn't even think, for half a second, to come and see me with these news, back then, rather than to go alone and almost get yourself killed? Like, I'm-starting-to-doubt-my-violently-racist-boss'-goals-and-means,-perhaps-I-should-go-and-see-my-older-brother-who've-been-fighting-against-said-violently-racist-bastard? Or, actually, I'd rather you didn't think about it, because if you did, and still didn't come, Regulus, I don't know what to say, honestly!”

Regulus cringed.

“Because you'd have listened, perhaps? You never said we weren't family anymore, true, but what you did... It was even worse. If you didn't ever say it, it was because you thought it so deeply that, in your head, you didn't even have a family to think that about!”

Sirius' hand slammed harshly against the table. It had Regulus startled, but Amanda didn't even blink. She simply reassured her hold on her husband's hand. The two brothers needed to vent at least some frustration, and if now wasn't the time...

Well, it still had to be said, if anything.

“Don't talk to me of family, Regulus, not when you were the one to stop talking to me, and not the other way around, because Mother had said you should! And you know what? Your death, fake or not... I'm pretty sure Dad would have survived his illness, if you hadn't gotten yourself killed. And while you probably didn't want it to happen, it still happened!”

“Oh please, Sirius! I might have been Mom's favorite, but you were Father's, even as he didn't share your beliefs, even if he thought you were wrong. He mourned you even as I was there, standing just next to him, waiting for him to look at me!”

The older Black brother suddenly calmed down – or at least, it looked like it, but Regulus had learned not to trust any Black's physical display. Sirius wasn't calm, right now.

He sneered a moment, then shook his head.

“And there lies the issue, Regulus. He mourned me, but I wasn't dead.”

His younger brother didn't know what to answer to that.

Amanda tactfully cleared her throat.

“Perhaps we could go back to the object of our earlier conversation?”

The two needed to speak about it, she knew, but not with her present. And especially not now, not as her husband was bringing up something he had been waiting to say for weeks already – for when his brother would be willing to listen.

If they stopped each time one of their brotherly issues resurfaced, they wouldn't get anywhere.

Regulus blushed a bit, ashamed, and Sirius simply looked at his brother all business-like again; damn this guy and his poker face.

Still, if they couldn't speak of their family problems, they should at least put things right where it concerned the initial problem. Regulus wasn't going to let this one go.

“As I said, Sirius, would you have believed me? You didn't have any reason too, and I couldn't afford to lose any time. If the Dark Lord had realized what I was going to do... I might not even have been able to get to the object he wanted so much to protect.”

There was a moment of silence...

Then Sirius barked a laugh – still a bit colder, a bit deader than usual, but definitely amused.

When he stopped, he noticed his younger brother eyeing him suspiciously. Which didn't surprise him. Regulus hadn't ever really known him, or at least, not since a long time ago.

“That, Regulus, is the reason you never really understood why I was Sorted in Gryffindor, and not in Slytherin. The House I ended up in... It's not because I didn't agree with blood purity or this kind of stupid reasons. There are decent people in Slytherin, even people who don't buy into blood purity at all. They're in that House because of their personality, not because of their beliefs.”

Regulus muttered something along the lines of “but you are a manipulative bastard too”, which Sirius ignored, for the sake of their ongoing discussion. Besides, Regulus was right.

“And I, little brother, am more reckless than prudent, even if I know how to be prudently reckless.”

Which got him a doubtful look, that he also ignored.

“What I'm talking about here, is boldness, but not stupidity. Had you come to me, I'd have listened; perhaps I wouldn't have believed you, but in the end, even if without trusting you, I'd have come. I'd have told someone about it, discarded their worry, and gone with you to that cave. Because the possible gains were worth the risk. I don't have to trust you blindly to follow you, Regulus. All I need, is doubt. I'd have been cautious, and I'd have looked for an ambush... But if you had come with your own doubts and intel, I'd have listened.”

Regulus wasn't sure he felt all that better now, but he'd have to do with it.

What Sirius hoped his brother had gotten out of this was simply that: Sirius Black wouldn't ever trust someone blindly anymore, but he'd still be there for them if they needed it.

Trust was overrated.

Sirius sighed.

“So... Aside from your suicidal trip into the Devil's den, what did you find?”

Now that the personal part of the story was done, Regulus felt a bit better... There was no shame left for him, not in Voldemort's actions – the wizard had done what he had done without Regulus' help, thank you very much.

Yet, what was left to discuss wasn't good for all that. It was even so terrible, that the younger Black gulped... and found he wasn't feeling all that better than before.

“I... From what Kreacher described me, from the mix of human magics he had felt on the object, I couldn't find anything that corresponded. So I went to see Grandfather, and hinted, vaguely, at some magicks the books in the library talk about... Grandfather Arcturus even went so far as to eyeing me suspiciously...”

Sirius was starting to have an idea of what the mysterious object could be, but he still wanted to know how much Regulus had figured out before saying anything.

“And then you knew it had to be really grave, because a Black doesn't just disapprove the study of dark magicks, right?”

Regulus nodded.

“But he still gave me a book to read, and I... Sirius, the reason Voldemort survived after his killing curse bounced back at him... He... I'm sure you know about it, as you were in line for succession. The Dark Lord, he made a horcrux with Salazar Slytherin's locket.”

Regulus' eyes turned to Amanda, who had a politely inquiring look on her face, but Sirius was the one to explain.

“The Dark Bastard murdered someone to split his soul and hide part of it in an object. Horcruxes are almost indestructible, unless you have something like basilisk venom in your closet. You're saying that's what was in the cave?”

Regulus nodded, and tried to say more... Sirius didn't let him. Since his younger brother already knew about the deed, he could as well tell him about the plurality of said deed.

“I... I knew already, Regulus. And sorry to tell you that, but he didn't make only one. Dumbledore is trying to discover how many horcruxes Voldemort made as we speak. But... Fortunately for us, we do have a sword, full of basilisk venom, and we are also two horcruxes down. Harry destroyed one with the Monster of Slytherin's fang when he was a second year, and the Headmaster got rid of another this summer. I don't suppose you managed to get rid of yours...?”

Regulus stashed away the info that the Monster of Slytherin, the Chamber of Secrets were real, the serpent had been unleashed, killed by a twelve years old, was in fact a basilisk – made sense, really, but where in hell had Salazar Slytherin found one to begin with? Regulus was almost certain basilisks were extinct since the end of the Middle-A... Oh. Still, he wouldn't have thought of it, if only because basilisks, even at the time, had been terribly and fortunately rare, and thinking that Slytherin had managed to bind one to his will... Parselmouth or not, basilisks had too much magic in them to just obey. The old founder had probably done something to the egg itself to ensure the monster's obedience.

Anyway. Later.

“I ordered Kreacher to destroy it, but if what you're saying about the means of disposal is true, he might not have managed to do it. House-elves magic is different from ours, but that doesn't really mean much when confronted to such a dark magic.”

Sirius agreed. The only way to be sure, was to ask the annoying house-elf himself.

He called Kreacher, who popped out of nowhere, eyes wide open and onto Amanda – the house-elf didn't know what to think of the muggle woman, but Master Regulus had married her, and...

“By all means, brother, handle this interrogation. I'll just... walk out of here meanwhile. I could probably do with a sandwich... One of you wants something from the kitchen? No? Then... I'll be back in five.”

And just like that, Sirius disappeared from the office. He tolerated Kreacher, now, but he'd still rather not spend more time than necessary in his presence. Too many bad memories.

When he came back, five minutes later, the house-elf was gone, and Regulus was holding a gold locket with a serpentine S on it, a disgusted expression on his face.

Where had he seen... Right. The little weasel must have stolen it back.

“For once I'm glad Kreacher did his thing... I almost threw it away, thinking it was some nasty heirloom of black magic, when I cleaned up the Grimmauld house.”

Regulus snorted.

“Well, it is some nasty heirloom of dark magic, and it really deserved to be thrown away... Only, it's not our nasty heirloom of dark magic, and throwing it away would have made matters more complicated.”

Sirius looked around the office, and found Amanda gone.

“Where did your wife go?”

Regulus answered carefully – whether because of the nastiness of the task she had given herself, or because he wasn't sure it would change much of anything, his brother couldn't tell.

“I really love my wife, you know, and I like Kreacher, not matter what you think about it... But I'm not certain she'll manage to do what she want, with how... traditional this house-elf is. She read about house-elves, and I know she won't try to get him real clothes, but she thought it was time for Kreacher to look a bit more... respectable. Like the house-elves at Hogwarts wear something close to a uniform, I guess.”

Sirius scrunched his nose, and did his best to ignore the mental image that was coming to him.

“I wish her good luck. Aside from that, I don't suppose you know how to use fyendfire?”

Regulus' eyes went back to the horcrux – he couldn't believe he was holding such a thing in his hands.

“So that works too... No, sorry. Wilkes was the pyromaniac among the Death Eaters. Everyone else just stayed clear of him in battle, or of fyendfire in general, even Bellatrix and the likes. It's not something anyone would be able, or willing to use. Too dangerous. You?”

Sirius blinked at the question, wondering why his little brother would even think...

“Don't look at me like that! You're the insanely skilled one, and fyendfire is dark magic from beginning to end. It's just in your area of expertise.”

“Well sorry to disappoint, brat, but I never even thought of using it. And while, perhaps, my level of skill could contain the time bomb that is fyendfire, I'd still need some experience in handling it before risking it anywhere other than in the middle of the ocean. By the way, I don't like how you insinuated I wasn't only insanely skillful, but merely insane and skilled.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but soon refocused on the freaking piece of dark magic in his hands.

“So... What do we do, then?”

Sirius squinted at him, and snatched the horcrux away before pocketing it.

“Did you listen when I said Hogwarts has the sword of Gryffindor, which has been imbued with basilisk venom? We're going to see Dumbledore and get rid of that thing. Which, by the way, you aren't going to handle anymore. Your reputation is suspicious enough, I don't want anyone to see you with Voldepant's soul hanging around your neck.”

Damn, Regulus had forgotten how much brotherhood sucked. Especially when you were the younger brother – not that it had anything to do with his poor life choices from the first war, no, not at all. It wasn't as if he had deserved to be treated like a kid, by proving he couldn't make choices for himself without becoming a terrorist... Oh wait, yes it was.

Still, he thought he had made some redeeming life choices since then.

So it was all because Sirius was a nasty older brother, in the end. Yeah, definitely.

Sirius quickly sent a patronus to Dumbledore, to announce their arrival – but without precising why they were coming to Hogwarts. You never knew whose ears could be listening in. The Headmaster would need to do with the simple knowledge that their visit was of utmost importance.

They started heading for the edges of the property, to the gates, and Regulus took the opportunity to point out a few things on the way. He so needed to correct some of his brother's assumptions – and, his way of putting things into words, too, because wow, Sirius had a way with how he said things...

“One, that sounded incredibly disturbing, I didn't need that. Two, I'm pretty sure you didn't say half these things; in fact, I think you were waaay more vague than that, and I definitely couldn't guess it was Gryffindor's sword from what you said. Three, I wouldn't put the dratted locket around my neck, thank you very much, I'm not stupid, and it's not like I'm going to lose it before we destroy it.”

Sirius only deigned glancing at him for a second.

“You can have the dratted locket back if you want, but don't count on me to explain anything if someone asks something.”

And he almost shoved the horcrux in his brother's face, without a care in the world.

Regulus stopped in his tracks, to avoid the damned thing, a look of outrage on his face.

“I didn't say I wanted it!!!”

The smirk he got in return said enough, and for the second time that day, the younger Black brother thought brotherhood really, really sucked.

Just before they passed the gates, though, he stopped Sirius. He still had one thing to say about his... marvellous trip to Voldemort's cave, and he'd rather not wait to be with Albus Dumbledore, in spite of his brother, to say it.

Sirius arched his eyebrows, but didn't say anything, too aware of the anxious look on his brother's face.

“Say, if I had done something... inconsiderate before giving the locket to Kreacher and telling him to get out of the cave, to destroy it... Would you help me out?”

“You, doing something unconsiderate? Come on, don't make me wait, spill it.”

Regulus took a deep breath – remembering the night, the darkness, the pain, the freezing water, the dead limbs grasping at him, taking him with them into the deep, just before he managed to apparate out of the cave... He had been fortunate that Voldemort had been... careless in his wards. They didn't extend to the bottom of the water.

He chased the memories away – at least for now. They'd come back soon enough, in the dead of the night, in his nightmares, even as he laid in Amanda's arms... During the day, too, sometimes, when something reminded him of...

He chased them away, and focused on what mattered.

At the time, it hadn't seemed that stupid a decision, but at the time he hadn't thought he'd live to see the light of a new day. Yet he was here. And what he had done... If the Dark Lord ever went to check on his horcrux, he'd know.

“Let's suppose Kreacher had given me a vaguely accurate description of the locket, and I made a rough copy, to replace the stolen horcrux, in case Voldemort went to the cave... And, still supposing, I might have left a... message in the fake locket. With my signature.”

Sirius stared at his little brother for about half a minute before he said anything.

“Should I suppose, with that interesting theory of yours, that you somehow taunted the last darkest mage in date in that message?”

Regulus didn't answer, but the way he pinched his lips together... Sirius didn't doubt it one instant. His little brother had always looked like that, whenever someone pointed out his failures – or, in this case, when Sirius guessed right about something he had done, and was now regretting.

“And I'm the reckless one...”

“I thought I was going to die anyway!!!”

“Which clearly didn't happen, no matter what we all thought. Alright... We can surmise Voldepants never found your cute goodbye note, or you'd be dead by now. I think you wouldn't even have walked out of St. Mungo's; a Death Eater or another would have killed you when you were stuck to the hospital bed, or they'd have at least tried. The thing is, if he finds it now, he'll have you killed, with your wife and son for good measure. He won't even care to know if you really remember nothing or not. It's not just your life on the line anymore...”

“I know that, thanks! Why do you think I'm telling you about it?!”

Sirius gave his brother a stern look, which had him deflate a bit – a bit, not completely.

“What do you think I'm doing right now, Regulus? I'm stating facts, not blaming you. If you want me to help... Actually, it's exactly what I told you earlier, about how you should have come to me. I'll do anything, if it helps, but I'm not going to just jump into a potentially deadly situation.”

“I... Sorry.”

Sirius waved the excuse away – not that he didn't care, on the contrary, but he wasn't going to make a big thing out of it either.

Asking for forgiveness was just that; even if you deserved it, even if the other knew you were sorry, you still had to say it, if only for the other to be sure you were aware of what you had done wrong. After that, if you deserved forgiveness, if you asked for it, and the other person still refused, then they were probably an asshole... or a sanctimonious hypocrite.

“I guess it means we're going back to the cave, before long, if possible. We can't possibly leave incriminating evidence like that for Voldepants to find.”

Seeing Regulus' distress – could he really blame him for that? Obviously not – Sirius added:

“You won't be alone, this time, Regulus. And you have a family, your own family, your wife, your son, waiting for you to return. It will be nothing like the first time, I promise.”

The younger Black gave him a weak smile – but a smile nonetheless.

“I... I'll try.”

His older brother patted him on the shoulder, a kind smile on his face.

“You'll succeed.”

Confident, Sirius started walking again. They were almost at the gates, and they had a horcrux to destroy. Then they'd worry about Regulus' situation. Things were looking good – or, at least, as good as they could considering they were at war. Not every day, lately, went so.

Just as they reached the gates – after what, they'd apparate to Hogsmeade; from there they'd walk to the school – Sirius took a moment to talk to his brother, as they were still alone – for now.

“Regulus, once we'll be done with the locket... Go, and talk to Alshain. Ask him how he's doing, this kind of things. Then you'll remember why you need to go back to the cave.”

Regulus' lips hinted at a smile, and he nodded, but he couldn't speak right now.

“Ah well... Between the cave and the message, Regulus, I'm impressed. We'll make a Gryffindor out of you one day, dear brother. Just for that, you get to destroy the locket yourself.”

Regulus was about to retort, this time, but Sirius grabbed his arm with a grin, and side-along apparated the two of them without a warning.

 


	32. Neither the rat nor the lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title sounds like something out of a fairy tale... Hint: this is no fairy tale
> 
> Also, I have no idea where the end came from, but enjoy!

Narcissa pretended everything was good – as always.

Just the right amount of self-esteem, just the right amount of caution, just the right amount of fear. The Dark Lord had called for her. It wouldn't do to look too disturbed by the thought, but being absolutely unfazed might make it look like she refused to acknowledge the hazardous situation her family was in, since Lucius' failure.

She was a pureblood, representing two of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The Blacks, and the Malfoys. She needed to hold her rank.

But at the same time, her family was in disgrace.

Equilibrium.

Narcissa followed Corban Yaxley as he led her to his master – in her own home! But Narcissa could not, would not complain. It wasn't her place, and she didn't have the courage to do it anyway.

 _Sirius would do it, him_ , crossed her mind, but she chased the thought away. She couldn't afford to think of Sirius. It was too late for her to even consider going to him for help. She had chosen her side in this war... and even if she hadn't, her husband and her son had, which meant that leaving now would only put them in danger. Lucius was in no position to change sides in Azkaban, and Draco hadn't yet realized that the Dark Lord's assignment for him was at all a good thing.

Still... Sirius wouldn't even have to do it, because the stubborn Gryffindor wouldn't have followed the Dark Lord in the first place. Correction, he hadn't followed the Dark Lord in the first place.

Narcissa wouldn't pretend she wanted to go and join the Order of the Phoenix – that'd be beyond stupid – but perhaps Lucius could have taken a more... neutral stance all these years ago, and now they wouldn't be in this situation. If, instead of becoming a Death Eater, Lucius had just manifested his approval of the Dark Lord in quieter means, like Sirius' and Regulus' parents...

It hadn't happened, and Narcissa would have to deal with it.

It was harder now, though. Lucius wasn't here, Draco was in danger even at Hogwarts, and Bellatrix had, in the most surprising manner possible, changed sides. Sirius was obviously an enemy, Regulus seemed to have forgotten everything about who he was supposed to be, and Andromeda was still married to that muggle-born...

Narcissa was alone.

Yaxley followed her into the room the Dark Lord had chosen as his command center, and went to sit next to Thorfinn Rowle and Selwyn. Most of the closest followers were currently in Azkaban, and those who weren't here, but were still free, were probably working on some thing or another for their master.

The Dark Lord was sitting further into the room, his seat turned to look through the high windows of Malfoy Manor.

“Narcissa Malfoy...”

Narcissa refrained from gulping. It was not the demeanor a woman such as herself should show – and the Dark Lord might interpret it, not as fear, but as guilt... Even if she had nothing to blame herself for. She didn't want to risk it.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Come here.”

She glanced at the three Death Eaters in the room, almost seeking reassurance – but Lucius wasn't here, and Bellatrix wasn't either. The three younger men were not ones she was close to. There was no point looking at them.

Before the Dark Lord could find her lacking in obedience or enthusiasm, Narcissa joined him at the windows.

He didn't look at her – not directly, but she knew he wasn't missing much in his observation of her reactions – his eyes fixed on the horizon. Probably not admiring the scenery, though. More likely planning how to make everything his – or under his control, if nothing more. His snake, Nagini, was rolled around the base of the seat, its head on the Dark Lord's shoulder.

“I feel as if I should have asked you that question sooner, Narcissa, but now is better than never, isn't it?”

“Certainly, my Lord. What do you want to ask me about?”

A short, inhumane laugh.

Dry of any real happiness.

“Your cousin, of course.”

Something froze in Narcissa, but she wasn't sure what – or why – yet. She assumed it was only because of the association – amongst the Dark Lord's followers, it was easy to be found guilty by association. If someone on the other side of the war you were acquainted to did something really, really galling against the Dark Lord, you could expect a cruciatus curse at best, or general distrust at worst.

Needless to say, whoever ended up distrusted by the Dark Lord usually also ended up dead in the next weeks. Either because they had been sent on very dangerous, even suicidal, missions, or because they became the new stress-relieving punching bag.

Just like Draco was currently paying for his father's failure.

“Which one, my Lord?”

“Ah, right. There are more than one blood traitor amongst the remaining Blacks. It's interesting how the members of your family are either pure followers, more loyal than almost anyone else, or outright traitors. It must have something to do with your strong personalities.”

Half a wince made its way on Narcissa's face, even if she tried to keep it discreet. Strong personalities... That was a way of putting it.

“As you're reminding me, there are two of them I am willing to discuss. Not the Auror, though I'd appreciate if that half-blooded niece of yours could be disposed of. No, I was thinking about Lord Black...”

Narcissa's jaws clutched together, but she had been expecting it. Everyone wanted to talk about Sirius, these days – nothing new, in fact – and with everything that had happened lately...

“... But I feel we should start with his brother.”

“Regulus?”

There wasn't really a need to ask, but Narcissa felt she had to say something, for fear of being thought suspicious. The least dangerous way to... participate... in the conversation was to go with the most neutral interactions as long as possible.

She wasn't sure she'd be able to completely control her voice, and she absolutely didn't want the Dark Lord to hear anything of her uncertainties.

“Yes, Regulus... I am quite curious, I must say, to the fact that he is being very close to his brother once again. For Bellatrix, I can understand. Her magical bond to her killer is probably influencing her mind more than both of them are aware. But Regulus... Are we certain he really lost his memories? Or could it be one of his brother's tricks?”

Narcissa didn't comment that, from what she had seen of Bella's ghost, her sister seemed more sound of mind than before her death. That would be suggesting that perhaps Sirius and his friends were right to refuse the Dark Lord's authority, and that wasn't something she'd say out loud.

She wasn't insane.

Point in case, Sirius probably would have said it – but once again, Sirius wouldn't ever have found himself in the situation she was now.

“I haven't seen Regulus privately, my Lord, but he seems to have genuinely fallen in love with his muggle wife. I suspect that his memory loss is a true story. Not knowing the true nature of the woman, he basically became someone else, as she took care of his wounded self. Should he remember everything again, I am certain he'd see the errors of his way.”

Or not. Narcissa couldn't say she approved of her cousin's marriage, but she knew well enough what it was to love someone, and she had seen the look on Regulus' face when he had left St. Mungo's, Amanda White – Black, she reminded herself, cringing inwardly – at his side.

Then again, she wasn't going to say it out loud.

The Dark Lord nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on his face – and, Dear Merlin, how could he look so dreadfully inhuman? Narcissa, standing where she was, just a bit ahead of the Dark Lord so that he could observe her without taking his eyes off the horizon, had a perfect view of his new, dark-magic-produced body. She tried not to look too closely – it would be rude, and dangerous to anyone who wasn't Bellatrix. But it was hard to ignore.

The pallor, the bones almost visible under the skin, the slitted red eyes, no nose, no hair, no lips. Not so much fragile-looking, however, as simply inhuman.

“Hmm... I fear Regulus might be a little too smitten with his disgusting wife. If we tried to contact him, to make him see the truth, it could cause him to doubt us more than necessary... But I have an idea on that point. We'll see to it later... Once we'll have delt with the more pressing issue of his older brother.”

The room's door opened with a loud noise, making Narcissa startle. She turned around violently, only to see an angry young woman she hadn't ever seen amongst the Dark Lord's followers pushing around Peter Pettigrew. A new recruit, no doubt, and from her facial features... Probably a long lost cousin of the Crouchs.

“Ah, Medine, you've brought our friend. Good, good. Now, Peter, come here, and let's talk about your former friend, Sirius Black.”

Narcissa squinted at the pitiful half-blood, still not seeing what her cousin had seen in him, and clearly disgusted by the individual. She wouldn't admit it, not even to herself, but she'd rather he kept his mouth shut about Sirius, if only because betrayal wasn't something she liked. Her cousin might be on the wrong side, but him, at least, he kept his word.

Pettigrew wasn't even here because he believed in the cause – a change of heart was comprehensible, desirable, even, but treason for the sheer sake of saving your hide? That was distasteful.

If the pitiful man could hide it at least... But no. He wasn't even trying.

Narcissa almost felt vindictively pleased as she saw the small, rat-like man blanch at the simple mention of Sirius' name. It served him right.

The Dark Lord's eyes followed the fool as he slowly approached his seat, torn between showing proper respect and admiration and staying well away from Nagini.

Narcissa squinted, thoughtful. Didn't these snakes eat rodents all the time?

The thing with having Peter Pettigrew in the room was that she could pass every other emotion off as mere disgust for the dirty-blooded individual. It almost made his presence bearable.

“Sirius Black, Master?”

The Dark Lord looked slightly irritated with the man's manners.

“Yes, Sirius Black. Don't just repeat everything I say, Wormtail. What I want to know, is whether or not you've told me absolutely everything about your friend. If you've left something out, for exemple, something I could use to get him out of the way.”

“I... I would never, my Lord...”

The Dark Lord waved the excuses away. It looked weird, Narcissa couldn't help but notice, with his bony arm and his long, thin fingers. Like a skeleton trying to pass itself off as human.

“I am certain you didn't do it on purpose, Wormtail, but I need to know everything. The mere mention of him seems to send you in a frenzy, and I must admit, it puzzles me quite a bit. Why would you be afraid of Sirius Black, when you are working for me?”

There was a menace hidden in there, Narcissa could tell.

Peter Pettigrew strangled an uncomfortable laught.

“I... You don't understand, my Lord, it's not like that... It's...”

Narcissa knew why Pettigrew was so afraid of her cousin, yet she wasn't particularly surprised that the Dark Lord didn't seem to get it. The wizard thought very high of himself, which he wasn't wrong about, but he apparently had taken to dismissing almost everybody else – except Albus Dumbledore – as a consequence.

Sirius might not be as dangerous as Lord Voldemort, but he certainly should be feared by the one who had betrayed him so terribly. The fact that Pettigrew was more scared of the Dark Lord than of Sirius Black was of no direct consequence as to that fear itself.

It existed. It was there. And Narcissa hoped it wouldn't go away before a long, long time.

“What Pettigrew means, my Lord, is that he knows what Sirus might do to him, should they cross path again. Or rather, he doesn't know what Sirius might do to him, but he knows it wouldn't be pleasant. I know my cousin; while he's not one to use violence without reason, his grudge against this man would certainly count as a reason. And when Sirius uses violent means, he doesn't fear to char his angel wings.”

Narcissa gave the small man a look, basically daring him to deny what she had just said.

Pettigrew squirmed, but didn't contradict her.

“I am... I'm certainly afraid of Sirius, Master, but if there is anything I can tell you... Anything that would keep him away from me...”

There was a moment of silence. Then the Dark Lord burst into a laugh. Cold, metallic, even. Narcissa shivered, and the rat recoiled.

“At least, with you, Wormtail, I know why you are doing what you are doing. That being said, is there something you forgot to tell me about? Like you didn't tell me right away that your friends were animagi?”

The Dark Lord looked the rat in the eyes for some time, used perhaps a tad of legilimency, and apparently found nothing worth mentioning... Before turning his crimson eyes onto Narcissa. The witch refrained a shudder of anxiety.

“You, on the other hand... I am quite certain that your family has kept its secrets over the generations, and I do not blame you for keeping them too, Narcissa Black, but perhaps it would be time to reveal how exactly your cousin has such a strange way with magic? I thought nothing of it, years ago, when he first stood against our cause, because it was never as obvious as it is today, but I cannot ignore it any longer. Sirius Black, on top of being a powerful and skilled wizard, also never seems to run out of magic. Each time he is supposed to wear out, he simply keeps fighting. So either he knows ways to replenish I never heard of, or he is his own secret.”

Narcissa didn't even think about lying. There was no point in lying; she could already feel the sheer mental pressure of the Dark Lord's legilimency, and he was barely looking at her.

Why would she lie, anyway? It wasn't as if that particular secret would get him anywhere. It wasn't something the Dark Lord could use for himself – hell, it wasn't something anyone could use for themselves. Sirius had been born that way, he hadn't done anything to have that power.

He'd rather not, Narcissa knew.

Sometimes, she even wondered if the rift between him and the rest of the family wasn't a consequence of having learned the truth, more than the result of a so-called higher morality.

“Narcissa...?”

The way her name was hissed by the Dark Lord had her bit her lower lip, not to react more extremely. It wasn't pleasant, oh no, far from it.

Even if Narcissa could appreciate the cause, and the efforts the Dark Lord made to turn it into a reality, she had a hard time understanding his most loyal followers, like her sister. She had even more difficulties seeing what in him had gotten Bellatrix's unwavering adoration.

She felt the hard taste of blood in her mouth, and forced herself to stop. Her teeth left her lip with an unpleasant feeling of resonance.

She looked the Dark Lord in the eyes.

As if nothing had happened.

“There is a...”

She could feel Pettigrew's eyes on her, but she wouldn't, even not to get him to stop, to look away, to get him away from her, she wouldn't move from her locked eye contact with the Dark Lord.

“...a legend, in the House of Black, that no twins can be born and bear the name of Black, or, more generally, belong to the main family. There haven't been twins since the beginning of our bloodline, two millennia and a half ago. We don't know why, but we know that.”

Lord Voldemort seemed enticed with the anecdote; Narcissa could tell she had his attention, and, more importantly, she could tell he was already seeing where this small fact was leading them.

The Dark Lord wasn't the only one listening with redoubled attention. She could have sworn the rat was mumbling something about how Sirius had, in their first years at Hogwarts, been unable to see twins and not flinch. The other Death Eaters in the room were pretending not to be interested, but Narcissa knew how to read they apparent disinterest. They were curious, too, and if anything, wondering if they'd get anything usable against the new Black Lord. Just, you know, in case they had to face and murder him any time soon.

“Let me guess, Narcissa. Your cousin is one of two twins?”

“He is. The Blacks can't have twins, but they can conceive twins. From what we know, it's the eight time it happened in the family. Sirius and Adhara Black, a boy and a girl. Only the boy lived. Only one of the two.”

“Like the seven previous pairs, I suppose.”

Narcissa closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the day her aunt had learned she was pregnant with twins. Narcissa had been, what, five years old? She still remembered that day clearly. The curiosity of it all. The strange reactions from the adults. Was the legend true? Or wasn't it? She had asked her father to explain, and he had taken her and her sisters aside, to tell them the story.

Walburga Black had had a moment of sadness, as she had realized one of her childrens probably wouldn't live to see the light of day... Then the prospect, the posibilities of having one of the twinless twins as her own child had won out.

It had been harder, thought, when they had realized the children were non-identical twins, a boy and a girl. It meant they had to think of two different names, and one of those would never be used. Had it been two boys, or two girls, they could have pretended there was only one baby to begin with. The name would have fit no matter the survivor.

Not this time – second time in the eight times the Blacks had had twins.

Sirius Black, or Adhara Black?

Sirius had lived; Adhara hadn't.

“The Blacks cannot have twins, my Lord. Whenever it happens, one of the children dies in the womb, and the other grow up to be twice as powerful, or rather, with twice as much supplies of magic as they should normally have.”

The Dark Lord had a terrible glint in his eyes. Narcissa almost wished she had kept her eyes closed, but that would have been telling. That she cared about the unborn child more than about power. That, perhaps, she pitied Sirius even if he was an enemy. She didn't know what the Dark Lord might think of it, and she didn't want to find out.

Seeing the envy in his eyes was enough of a trial, right now.

Sirius had never thought that his situation was anything to be envious of.

“Fascinating. The surviving twin must have absorbed its sibling, its magic, its life force even...”

Its... Narcissa didn't comment on making a poor baby the equivalent of an object.

It wouldn't have been wise.

The Dark Lord turned to look at the horizon, once again, and didn't say anything for a time. Nagini slithered over his shoulder, and Narcissa could have sworn the snake was watching the horizon too, like its master. How to conquer these lands, this world...

Just as Pettigrew started to squirm, unable to stay on his own two damn feet – Sirius, Narcissa realized, for all his flaws, had never forgotten how to be someone of importance. He might fool around, and pretend he didn't care, but he still had the gait of a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

He hadn't been tarnished by his associations, that much had to be said.

Not even in his beliefs, his cousin had to admit. Sirius hadn't waited to go to Hogwarts and get himself Sorted in Gryffindor to disagree with his family. He had perhaps been quieter about it back then, but that was it.

Narcissa didn't quite know what to make out of these thoughts, but she couldn't discard them either. There was something to be found there, a truth she couldn't yet word out correctly, she could tell...

But what?

“Wormtail!”

Both Narcissa and the rat started, as the Dark lord suddenly brought them back to attention. She, obviously, managed not to show it too much, but the rat visibly shuddered.

“Yes, my... my Lord?”

“I have a mission for you. Somehing I am certain you'll appreciate, considering both you and Severus must be quite sick of seeing each other everyday...”

Pettigrew wisely didn't comment on that, but that was probably out of survival instinct more than anything else. Complaining about the Dark Lord's assignments wasn't something a prudent person should do, not even if the Dark Lord himself had initiated it.

Also, Narcissa had a feeling that the rat would not appreciate his new mission.

“But that will wait. For now...”

The seat the Dark Lord was sitting in turned on its own. Narcissa and Pettigrew followed, to stay in sight of the wizard, but he was now looking at the other Death Eaters in the room – yes, it was easy to forget, but the pathetic excuse for a wizard that was Pettigrew was actually a Death Eater too.

“Yaxley! Until we find an occasion to be rid of Lord Black definitively, I want you to undermine everything he does, everything he tries at the Ministry for example. If we can keep him busy, he won't be running into our operations so often. As for you, Selwyn, try and figure out a way to destroy him personally. You can't go after him directly, not now that he is a martyr and a hero, but if you can get his friends and allies in difficult situations, it will land him in difficult situations and people might begin to doubt him too. He has a werewolf for a best friend, it shouldn't be too hard to do something with that fact.”

Narcissa couldn't say she didn't approve of the strategy, but she remembered a time when the Dark Lord made all his plans himself, instead of making a general decision and letting the henchmen decide of the details. She remembered a time Lord Voldemort truly was a mastermind, and not only a tyrant who only bothered with his personal power, and with punishing the ones who failed him.

She remembered how he was feared, back then.

She wondered if it was only this time, that the Dark Lord would delegate, or if it was going to happen more and more often. If, perhaps, the Battle of the Department of Mysteries hadn't been completely thought out by the Dark Lord, leaving his men to improvise.

If, perhaps, the loss of quality wasn't only a passing and baseless impression she alone was experiencing.

Lord Voldemort had been an exceptional wizard, that no one could stand up to, except Albus Dumbledore. And now he left a teenager – namely, Harry Potter – twist his plans so many times?

Granted, the first time had been a fluke. The baby himself hadn't really done anything, but his mother's sacrifice, on the other hand...

Only, it wasn't once that the Dark Lord had failed, more or less badly, when faced with Harry Potter. Once was a fluke, twice was a coincidence, thrice was suspicious.

Perhaps the Dark Lord had been more damaged by his time without a body than even he thought – though, Narcissa doubted the powerful wizard could even imagine that he might not be entirely efficient intellectually. He was too full of himself for that, too certain of his own superiority.

Yet, he kept losing, if not completely, just enough for it to be telling. Certainly, he had come back, he had made himsef a new body using dark magic, but hadn't the kid still managed to escape, more than one year ago, in that graveyard? Hadn't Harry Potter managed to survive the confrontation at the Ministry? How many other encounters between the Dark Lord and the teen had happened, that Narcissa didn't know about?

Sure, neither Dumbledore nor – shame on the Dark Lord had it happened – Harry Potter had managed to stop him, and, yes, Lord Voldemort was gaining in power again, but it didn't change the fact that each time, both the old wizard and the teenager had walked away too.

Perhaps it was time for Narcissa to acknowledge that the Dark Lord was losing his edge. That he was too obsessed with his need for revenge, with his desire for power, to truly think again.

The Dark Lord turned back to the two people in the room he had called for especially, and immediately Narcissa stopped thinking about her doubts. Because she was aware of the Dark Lord's flaws didn't mean she had stopped fearing him.

If anything, it only made him more dangerous on a personal level.

“Narcissa... I would like you to get closer to Regulus, again, and work on turning him back to our cause. Do that slowly, discreetly, under the cover of caring for a cousin you had thought lost for too long, because whatever his brother is telling him, Regulus won't be amenable as a result. I want him back, but I don't want Sirius Black to notice. He could be an useful spy against the Order through his brother.”

Narcissa nodded – but deep down, she felt something stir in her, as if in protest. As if she was supposed to care that this was morally wrong, even if, should she succeed, it would potentially save Regulus' life.

Merlin knew what the Dark Lord had in store for those who desisted him, willingly or not.

Then again, Lord Voldemort wasn't that good to his own people either. Narcissa wondered, when she was alone, a prisoner in her own home, in a sense, if he had always been like that, and she hadn't noticed during the First War, or if it was only that his frustration was now making the pretense disappear, slowly but surely.

Either way, she should have understood sooner that while the Dark Lord did care for blood purity, his main objective was his own power before everything else.

Spotting these people was something a Black was supposed to be able to do with a single glance. On that point, Narcissa had to admit that Sirius and Andromeda had beaten them all. Perhaps because, unlike Bellatrix, Regulus and herself, the two other Black youths had never listened to the Dark Lord's discourse; it had allowed them to focus more on the underlying currents than on the promises.

Narcissa would have laughed at herself, had she been anyone else. Sirius and Andromeda hadn't been the only ones to see through the Dark Lord's motives – Arcturus too had seen it, even as he moderately supported blood purity; Orion, while agreeing with the cause, had been slightly reluctant to get further involved; Alphard had laughed at Narcissa's father when he had started talking about it, and had never explained why exactly.

Now Narcissa knew why.

“As for you...”

The Dark Lord's attention having shifted back onto the rat, Narcissa allowed herself to show a bit more of her current state of mind – what? It did look like contempt for the traitorous Gryffindor.

“I am afraid your mission will bring you quite close to Black, Wormtail, but I am certain it will not be an issue. After all, if you complete this mission successfully, I'll make sure you won't have to see him again. What do you think, Pettigrew?”

The rat tried very hard not to squirm at the questioning look the Dark Lord was giving him, fully aware that said dark lord didn't do questioning. Lord Voldemort made suggestive, and threatening, and disguised, but not questioning. If it sounded like it, it probably was a trap.

Pettigrew wasn't completely stupid, and understood that very well.

“I would be ho... honored to do your bidding, my Lord, even if I have to endanger my safety to do so... But I... What is it you want me to do, my Lord?”

The Dark Lord gave the rat an amused smirk, and Narcissa wondered, not for the first time, if he wasn't keeping Pettigrew around for the mere sake of seeing him terrified, and not even willing to hide it. A bit like a court jester, in fact. Only, this one wasn't aware he was the joke everybody was laughing at – or rather, he knew it, but he was also aware that he didn't have much of a choice.

“Regulus' muggle wife will be an obstacle to getting him back, I am well aware of that, because no matter what we think of her and of her descent, her husband is still oblivious to it all. He doesn't understand, and won't understand, as long as she stays alive.”

Ah. So the Dark Lord hadn't completely underestimated the bond between her cousin and his wife, then. Narcissa hadn't seen that one coming, she had to acknowledge that much.

She didn't like the way this was going one bit.

Even if Amanda White – Amanda Black, as it was – was a muggle.

Narcissa made sure to keep her eyes on Peter Pettigrew as the Dark Lord continued. Refusal would be suicidal, yet she wanted to know how far he'd be willing to go for his own sake.

She already had a pretty good idea of that, but she still wanted confirmation.

“What I want from you, Wormtail, is for you to keep an eye on the muggle; to learn who she is, how she may influence Regulus Black, her relationship with your friend, too. I need you to be able to tell me what Narcissa will have to face, when she'll try, and succeed, I have no doubt of that, to bring Regulus back amongst us.”

A quick, but cold look in her direction. Narcissa's back stiffened automatically, and she gave the Dark Lord a confident look. Yes, my Lord, I will succeed... Because if I don't I am well aware of what awaits me and Regulus as a punishment.

Even if she found she didn't truly want to manipulate Regulus.

Pettigrew seemed almost relieved with his assignment, and Narcissa had to give it to him, she too had expected something more... gruesome.

Then the Dark Lord finished his order, and neither the rat nor the lady doubted of Lord Voldemort's cruelty anymore.

“In two months, more or less, you will murder Amanda White, Wormtail. You will remove her from Regulus Black's life, and thus you will end her negative influence on his mind. She cannot be allowed to take away such a pure blood, and she certainly will not be let to live as a Black's wife.”

Pettigrew paled, but still nodded in obedience.

It wouldn't be the first time he killed, in fact, but it was still something else... When he had killed these twelve muggles, after Sirius had found him back, he hadn't actually been trying to commit a murder. They had died, true, and he wasn't feeling overly guilty for that – perhaps a bit, but his relief at having escaped from his former friend swallowed it all – but it hadn't been his objective. They had been... unfortunate collateral damages.

As for James and Lily Potter, well... He had given the Dark Lord their location, but he hadn't been the one holding the murdering wand.

Peter Pettigrew had never killed someone in cold blood before.

But he knew that if he refused – worse, if he accepted but still failed – he'd suffer. Maybe he'd even die. And he didn't want to suffer. And he didn't want to die.

It was all written on his face, and Narcissa had no difficulty reading it. She knew he would do it – or try to, if anything. The rat was more afraid of the Dark Lord than of anyone else – sensible, for once – and besides, he was currently at the wizard's mercy. Refusing would be nothing but sutpid.

She wasn't certain he'd be able to actually do the deed and kill Regulus' wife in cold blood, that he wouldn't freeze at the last minute, but she knew that he'd try.

Because if he didn't, he was a dead rat.

Then again, if he did, he was just as much of a dead rat. Because neither Regulus nor Sirius would let him get away with the murder of Amanda Black – especially not Sirius, especially not a second time.

But right now, the Dark Lord was the one Peter Pettigrew was facing. So Peter Pettigrew would do what was asked of him. Because he didn't want to suffer, because he didn't want to die.

“You will have to wait for some time, Wormtail, before making your move; It would be too obvious if we tried to have her killed right away, they are probably expecting something of the kind. I have been told she hasn't left Black Manor since her husband got out of St. Mungo's... But one day she will walk past the protective gates of Black Manor, and when that happens, Rat, I want you there. I want you to listen, to watch, to follow her discreetly, to determine when and how you will kill her.”

The rat nodded again, and the Dark Lord turned back to Narcissa.

“Regulus will be crushed by the loss, and then... Well, it is certain that there are no better moments than moments of distress to shape the mind of an individual, am I not right?”

This, this was the reason Narcissa would never go against the Dark Lord.

Because he wouldn't hesitate to destroy his followers, if it assured him their entire cooperation. It didn't matter if it twisted them into something they weren't, if it made them broken and unstable – as long as they could fight, as long as they could obey, the Dark Lord would use them, and wear them out. Narcissa had seen it even in Bellatrix – I'm doing it for him, Sister, because it is the right thing to do! – and from there, it had been always a bit more, always a bit further down the rabbit hole.

She wondered, briefly, if Peter Pettigrew too had been eroded beyond measure. If he had been, once upon a time, a better man – on the wrong side, certainly, but not as pitiful as the rat who was currently standing next to her, even if on the right side. If Sirius had had a reason to be his friend.

It didn't matter, though. Whoever the Peter Pettigrew of the past had been, he didn't exist anymore.

Narcissa didn't shudder, nor she flinched, but she would have, had she been less of an actress.

Since that was how the Dark Lord was treating his allies – a voice in her head hissed, affronted, his servants – how would she even consider changing sides? How could she be expected to be an enemy of his, worse, a traitor?

She had a son to protect, and going to see Sirius – even only to get out of it all, not even to fight against the Dark Lord – would put Draco in danger.

This was her reason to obey.

“I expect you to be there for your cousin, after his terrible loss, Narcissa.”

For a moment she was afraid that her face would move into a poor, falsely credible smirk without her consent. That her disgust at the suggestion would be visible. That the Dark lord would find in her reaction a reason to look through her mind, in search for more felonies.

That he would consider – because he would, that much was a given – her latest thoughts as disloyal.

But no. A cold smile fell upon her mouth, twisting her lips into something she couldn't see as anything else than a grimace, even if she knew it was perfectly passionless.

“Of course, my Lord.”

The Dark Lord smiled thinly – no lips, still. Disturbing.

Pleased.

He dismissed the rat and the witch, and went back to staring thoughtfully at the horizon, his hand caressing his snake on its head.

Narcissa made a point of walking away slowly, her eyes fixed in condescension on Pettigrew, as the man all but ran away from the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, to disappear back into the darkness whence he had grovelled – meaning, Severus Snape's den of misery.

She never let it show, but when she walked past the door, she suddenly felt like her legs would give out anytime. She went back to her room, keeping pretense, never even minding the strangers who were walking in her home without her permission – Death Eaters, all of them, but few she actually knew. Witches and wizards who were here because the Dark Lord had made Malfoy Manor his command center, because he had decided...

Narcissa closed the door behind her, and rushed for the bathroom. She didn't know why, she wasn't sure how, but she felt sick with herself, with what people like Pettigrew – like Lucius, her brain whispered, but she ignored it – did for the so-called blood purity. With what the Dark Lord thought acceptable to do, even to pure-blooded individuals like herself, Draco, or Regulus. She didn't care much for Regulus' wife, of course – why would she? The woman was only a muggle – but the effects her murder would have on Regulus...

Amanda Black's son, Alshain, might be a half-blood, but he was in Slytherin, like Regulus had been, like Narcissa had been. He was her nephew, too. Did he really deserve to lose his mother, because she wasn't a witch?

Narcissa looked at her reflection in the gilded mirror. There, she saw her face change, literally. Her mask of haughty indifference fell into pieces, revealing her mental state, marring her delicate features. The terror, the anxiety, the disgust – she wasn't a perfect slytherin doll anymore, no.

But her mirror would be the only witness to that change, ever.

Narcissa Black – Narcissa Malfoy was a doll, cold and inhumane, if beautiful, without a word against the one who could destroy her with a single spell. A doll didn't speak – a doll was fragile.

If he wanted, the Dark Lord could break her like an uncaring child would break a dool.

Her eyes were on the mirror, and never left it, not even as she fumbled for the little vial of potion she had hidden in the secret compartment of the sink. She uncorked it with practiced ease, staring at the lack of glow in her eyes, at the lack of life in her gaze. It was fitting, she guessed.

The truth was, she didn't only look sick – she was sick. The potion was making her sick.

But it was better than the contrary. It was better than to let it happen, really. Not as Lucius wasn't here, not as the Dark Lord lived under their roof, not as Draco's life was already being threatened. Not when the war was taking a somber turn, once again.

Narcissa threw up in the sink.

It hadn't been planned, yet perhaps she might have been pleased, in other conditions. But she wasn't going to let a baby come into the world when said world was falling apart.

 


End file.
